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[See page 985.] 


Illustrated Magazine 

For Girls and Boys, 



Part II., May to November, 1880. 


Copyright, 1880, by Scribhbk & Co. 

Press of Francis Hart & Co. 
New- York. 

library, Univ. of 
North C»ri.lii. a 




Six Months — May to November, 1880. 



Elizabeth Eliza Writes a Paper Lucretia P. Hale 708 

Fairport Nine. The (Illustrated by A. C. Redwood) Noah Brooks 562 

654, 737- 8i7. 895. 985 

Fairy Photographs. (Illustrated by Jessie Curtis) //. H. Ballard 526 

Field-Sparrow. The Poem Lucy Larcom 533 

Flowering. Before and After Poem. (Illustrated) Philip Bourke Marston 823 

Foreign Head-Dresses of Men. (Illustrated by the Author) Sph'inx 641 

Fox and the Stork. The (Illustrated by W. L. Sheppard) Susan Coolidge 761 

Fresh-air-Fund Excursions. (Illustrated) Olive Thome Miller 800 

Full-dress Adventures of Miss Moriarty. The Verses. (Illustrated by ) ,-., ... , „ 

v ' ) Eleanor Kirk S48 

L. Hopkins) 5 ^ 

Girls and their Mothers. A Talk with Washington Gladden 521 

Girls' Swimming Bath. The (Illustrated by Miss C. A. Northam) Florence Wyman 902 

" Good-night." The Swiss (Illustrated by A. C. Warren and Walter F. Brown) , George Bancroft Griffith . . . 845 

Good Shot. The (Illustrated) Joseph Kirkland 639 

Grandmother's Room. (Illustrated) Harry S. Barnes 615 

Gref.n Man and a " Green " Beast. A (Illustrated by Miss S. A. Rankin).^. Blake Crofton 950 

Gunpowder Stories. Two (Illustrated by J. E. Kelly and Percival De Luce). J.L. W. 743 

Hap. (Illustrated by A. Brennan) Annie A. Preston 921 

Happy Thought for Street Children. A (Illustrated) Olive Thome Miller 800 

" Hark, hark ! What 's that noise ? " Jingle. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins). .M. F. Butts 726 

Head-Dresses of Men. Foreign (Illustrated by the Author) Sphinx 641 

Home of the Herons. The Picture, facing 601 

Hop o' my Thumb. Picture, facing 761 

House with the Lace Front. The Olive Thome Miller 981 

" How Happy would I be with Either ! " Picture, drawn by Laura C. Hills 684 

Howis Datforhi. The (Illustrated by Miss S. A. Rankin) F. Blake Crofton 806 

How Little Patty Saved her Mother. (Illustrated) Kate B. Horton 746 

How to Camp out. (Illustrated by the Author) Daniel C. Beard 618 

How to Care for the Sick. (Illustrated by W. Taber) Susan Anna Brown 586 

How Tom Cole Carried out his Plan M. A. Hopkins 870 

How to Save Time Susan Anna Brown 979 

Humming-bird. The Making of the Poem Annie A. Preston 784 

Ice-cream Man. The Picture, drawn by , Palmer Cox 789 

In the Continental Spirit. White Silhouettes, drawn by L. Hopkins 756, 757 

In the Orchard. Poem. (Illustrated) Horatio Nelson Powers 955 

Invasion. The Picture, drawn by F. B. Mayer 770 

Jack and Jill. (Illustrated by Frederick Dielman) Louisa M. Alcott 536 

6 °5. 693, 770, 852, 932 

Jacky's Scarecrow. Verses. (Illustrated by F. S. Church) Mrs. C. A. Wyckoff 691 

Japanese Fan. The Jingle. (Illustrated by A. Brennan) Mattie C. Cook 573 

Japanese Military Noble in Court Dress. A (Illustrated) William E. Griffis 702 

Jingles 561, 573, 578, 588, 617, 726, 765, S06 

Johnny's Pockets Anna B. Averill 797 

Jugglery. Oriental (Illustrated) Fannie Roper Feudge 545 

Lace Front. The House with the Olive Thorne Miller 981 

Lantern Fly. The (Illustrated) Dr. J. B. Holder. 924 

Lesson of Walnut Creek. The (Illustrated) M. E. Edwards . 874 

Lily Chapel. (Illustrated by J. F. Rungel Emma K~. Parrish 943 

" Little Miss Stone." (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) Mary Wager Fisher 601 

Little Models. The Poem. (Illustrated by W. L. Sheppard) R. E. Francillon 711 

Little Violinist. The Picture, drawn by Miss C. A. Northam 984 

Little Wave's History. A T. C. H. 815 

Lizbeth and the " Baby." The Story of (Illustrated by F. S. Church) George Houghton 533 

Lost and Found. (Illustrated by E. M. S. Scannell) Florence Scannell 642 

Luck. Verses Margaret B. Harvey 745 

Lucky Stroke. A (Illustrated) John Lewees 688 

Ludovick's Rocks. (Illustrated) Paul Fort 926 



Major's Big-Talk Stories. The (Illustrated by Miss S. A. Rankin and ) F. Blake Crofton 529 

H. McVickar) '. S 734, 806, 866, 950 

Making of the Humming-Bird. The Poem Annie A. Preston 784 

Man-Eaters. Some (Illustrated by H. Faber) Ernest Ingersotl 956 

Marion's Story. (Illustrated by Sol. Eytinge, Jr.) Elizabeth W. Denison 665 

Marjorie's Peril. (Illustrated by S. G. McCutcheon) Mary Lockwood 825 

Milling Coins. " A. D. 1695." (Illustrated by H. W. Troy) Mrs. D. G. Bacon 578 

Mining for Gold. Placer and Gulch (Illustrated by J. Harrison Mills) Ernest Jngcrsoll 790 

Models. The Little Poem. (Illustrated by W. L. Sheppard) R. E. Francillon 711 

Molbos. More Chronicles of the (Illustrated by Frank Beard) 662 

Mother's Hired Man. Verses. (Illustrated by H. Blashfield) F. M. Baker 799 

Musical Ducks. Something about (Illustrated by the Author) .Mrs. R. Swam Gifford .... 664 

My Dear Old Friends. (Illustrated) Alice Wood 668 

" My Lady is Eating her Mush." Jingle. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) . . . .Mrs. M. F. Butts 588 

My Ship. Jingle. (Illustrated by Miss C. A. Northam) W. T. Peters 617 

Naughtiest Day of My Life. The (Illustrated by Robert Lewis) H. H. 906, 946 

Naughty Kitten : " It is the Cat ! " Picture, drawn by F. IV. Sooy 942 

New Engineer of the Valley Railroad. The (Illustrated by H. Faber). Emma W. Demeritt 884 

Now, Bumble-Bee ! Verses. (Illustrated by Addie Ledyard) Nellie Wood 721 

One-Tree Island. (Illustrated by W. C. Fitler) Frank R. Stockton 722 

Oriental Jugglery. (Illustrated) Fannie Roper Feudge 545 

Palm-Leaf Fan. Song of the (Illustrated by H. W. Troy) Miss M. E. Bennett 808 

Paper Balloons. (Illustrated by the Author) Daniel C. Beard 728 

Patriots in i 775. The Canadian George J. Varney 718 

Pedro. (Illustrated by H. P. Share) Wm. M. F. Round 704 

" Peterkin " Paper. " Elizabeth Eliza Writes a Paper " Lucretia P. Hale 708 

Pet Name. The Jingle M. A. C 806 

Photographer : " Now sit perfectly quiet." Picture, drawn by Wykoff-Church 642 

Photographs. Fairy (Illustrated by Jessie Curtis) H. H. Ballard 526 

Placer and Gulch Mining for Gold. (Illustrated by J. Harrison Mills) . . .Ernest Ingersoll 790 

Pussy and her Elephant. Verses. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Hannah More Johnson .... 768 

" Queen of the Sea." The (Illustrated) H. G. Gray 891 

Quiet Chat. A Picture, drawn by H. Mc Vickar 877 

Rare Woods. (Illustrated) C. H. Farnham 685 

Robin, Good-bye ! Poem S. M. Chatfield 925 

Roll's Runaway. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) <*H.L. Satterlee and ) g 

v ' ' \ Matthew White, Jr. S 

Roses. Poem M. F. Butts 736 

Sally's Soldier. (Illustrated by Rufus F. Zogbaum) Christine Chaplin Brush. . . D /4 

Sea-urchins and the Wave. The Pictures, drawn by R. F. Bunner 894 

See-saw in an Elephant Pit. A (Illustrated by H. McVickar) F. Blake Crofton 734 

Shell-Screens from Enoshima. (Illustrated by the Author) B. D 850 

Sick. How to Care for the (Illustrated by W. Taber) Susan Anna Brown 586 

Sir Christopher Wren. The True and Sad Ballad of Poem 596 

Slumber-land. Poem Margaret Vandegrifl 973 

Small Boats : How to Rig and Sail them. (Illustrated by the Author) Charles L. Norton 878 

Some Man-Eaters. (Illustrated by H. Faber) Ernest Ingersoll 956 

Something About Musical Ducks. (Illustrated by the Author) Mrs. R. Swain Gifford .. 664 

Song of the Mocking Bird. Poem L. W. Backus 886 

Song of the Palm-Leaf Fan. (Illustrated by H. W. Troy) Miss M. E. Bennett 808 

Stones. Two Famous old (Illustrated) '. Fannie Roper Feudge 629 

Story of Lizbeth and the " Baby." The (Illustrated by F. S. Church) George Houghton 533, 

Stove and the Thermometer. The Fable. (Illustrated by J. G. Francis). .J. H. Temple 965 

Street Children. A Happy Thought for (Illustrated) Olive Thome Miller 800 

Summer Home for Poor Children. A (Illustrated by Jessie Curtis) Olive Thome Miller 647 

Summer Song. A Poem Julia C. R. Dorr 684 

Summer Story. A Verses Mrs. Annie A. Preston . . . 702 

Swimming Bath. The Girls' (Illustrated by Miss C. A. Northam) Florence Wyman 902 



Swiss "Good-night." The (Illustrated by A. C. Warren and Walter F. Brown) George Bancroft Griffith- . . . 845 

Talk About the Bicycle. A (Illustrated) CI tries Barnard 887 

Talk with Girls and Their Mothers. A ' II ishington Gladden 521 

Term at the District School. A (Illustrated by the Author and by W. T. ) , ,, „, 

x ' ' \ A G. Plympton 550 

Smedley) > 

" This Little Old Man Lived all Alone." (Illustrated by the Author). .] . Hopkins 578 

Tired Mother. A Picture, drawn by V. J. Lockharl 926 

Tom's Anti-Fire-Cracker League. (Illustrated) lary Wager Fisher 713 

Topsyturvy's Dream. (Illustrated) Tdgar Fawcett 580 

Tragedy. A Verses (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Thomas S. Collier 931 

Trial by Jury. A Picture, drawn by J. G. Francis 79< 

True and Sad Ballad of Sir Christopher Wren. The Poem 59^ . 

Two Famous Old Stones. (Illustrated) Fannie Roper Feudge 629 

Two Gunpowder Stories. (Illustrated by J. E. Kelly and Percival De Luc J. L. IV. 743 

Two- Legged Steed. A (Illustrated by Miss S. A. Rankin) .F. Blake Crofton 531 

Uninvited Balloonist. An (Illustrated by Miss S. A. Rankin) F. Blake Crofton 529 

Venice. "The Queen of the Sea." (Illustrated) H. G. Gray 8ci 

Walnut Creek. The Lesson of (Illustrated) M. E. Edwards 8^4 

Washing Dolly's Clothes. Picture, drawn by H.B. Jacobs 90 1 

Welsh Castles. A Day Among the (Illustrated) Nettie B. Wilcox 8 V7 

" West Wind's" Last Cruise. The (Illustrated by Granville Perkins) Frank H. Converse f 32 

What They Said. Jingle. (Illustrated by Addie Ledyard) Mabel C. Dowd <Jo\ 

Why' the Black Cat Winked. (Illustrated by A. Brennan) Sophie Swett 809 

Wild Flowers. Poem. (Illustrated by R. Riordan) Margaret Bourne . 554 

Wonder-land. Poem Caroline A. Mason 867 

Woodman's Daughter. The Poem Joy Allison 815 

Zack's Excursion Trip. (Illustrated by W. T. Smedley) Emma L. Plympton 951 


Introduction — Carpets — Photographs under Water — The Gemsbok and Eland — The Two Biggest Trees — About 
Some Tea-leaves — Roots Eighty Feet in Air (Illustrated) — The Cuckc d — Bamboozle — Found by a Lost Cow, 
594 ; Introduction — Earthenware Moccasins — Giant Animals — A Flan- : as a Watch-dog — The Horse that Fed 
His Friend — Rabbits in California — The Crow that Stole Fishes — St ange Things in Colorado (Illustrated) — 
Cactus Paper — Growth of Knowledge in Butterflies, 674 ; Introduc on — Sir Bumble-Bee's Story — How the 
Bechuanas Smoke — Insect Rag-pickers — Keeping Cut Flowers Fre h— Goddess of Tatters — Extract from a 
Little Girl's Letter (Illustrated) — Lightning as a Tube-maker — Al ee Still Taller, 754; Introduction — Sala- 
manders — To Hot-house Plants and Others — An Electric Mail-carrijr — Under-ground Things — An Egyptian 
"Rip Van Winkle" (Illustrated) — Five Pet Field-mice (Illustrated' 1 — Decorative Crabs — One Crowded Day, 
834; Introduction — A "Talking Book" — Kitty's Last Chance — A Baby-plant — The Little School-ma'am on 
Insects — Queer Fruit of an Oak (Illustrated) — An Ancient Insult — A Friendly Warning, 914; A Blackbird'; 
Little Joke — How they Appear through a Glass (Illustrated) — Wha Steam can do — A Tree that bor; Curious 
Fruit — The Brilliant Sea-mouse — The Salamander Dress — Voyage of a Cricket (Illustrated), 994. 

For Very Little Folk (Illustrated). 

Christmas Eve; Little Speckle has Laid an Egg, 592 — About a Big Dog; The Bird and its Mother; Did You? 
670 — Freddy and the Hawk; Little Popple-de- Polly ; Tabby's Supper, 751 — Ted and Kate, 830 — An Old 
Rat's Tale ; The Cook's Story, 912; Bobby's Supper, 992. 

Young Contributors' Department. 

The Story Written (Illustrated), 676 — The Bicycle Boys, 916. 

The Letter-Box (Illustrated) 597, 677, 756, F36, 917, 996 

The Riddle-Box (Illustrated) 599, 679, 759, 839, 919, 999 

Frontispieces. — "Ahoy, lads! Ah-o-y ! " facing Title-page of Volume — Sir Christopher Wren, facing page 
521 — The Home of the Herons, 601 — Elizabeth Zane Saves the Fort, 681 — Hop o' my Thumb, 761 — Feed- 
ing the Pigeons of San Marco, 841. 



[See page 596.] 


Vol. VII. 

MAY, 1880. 

No. 7. 

[Copyright, 1880, by Scribner & Co.] 


By Washington Gladden. 

" BUT there are girls, too, in the cities and the 
towns. Do not they deserve to be talked with in a 
friendly way, as well as the boys? Have n't you 
something to say to them?" 

Thus a chorus of girls, and their mothers. 

I confess to you, maidens and matrons, that the 
task to which you thus summoned me was one that 
I undertook with some diffidence. When I was 
talking to boys I was sure of my ground. Some- 
thing about boys I do know, for I have been a boy ; 
but the wisdom of experience fails me when I try 
to discuss the problems of life as they present 
themselves to girls. That I might have something 
worth saying I determined, therefore, to seek in- 
struction by sending a circular letter to a large 
number of those who once were girls, but who now 
are women of experience and reputation, asking 
them to tell me — 

" 1. What are the most common defects in the 
training of our girls ? 

" 2. What principles of conduct are most im- 
portant, and what habits most essential, to the 
development of a useful and noble womanhood?" 

This circular brought me more than forty letters, 
and it is upon the truths contained in these letters 
that this talk will be founded. I only undertake 
to reflect, in an orderly way, some of the advice of 
these wise women. I shall give you their words 
sometimes, and sometimes my own. 

I shall find it necessary, now and then, to turn 
in this talk from the girls to their mothers. In- 
deed, a large share of what is written in these 
letters is intended for mothers rather than for girls, 
and cannot, therefore, be so freely used in this 
place as I should like to use it ; but the girls are 
Vol. VII.— 35. 

generous enough, I am sure, to be willing that 
their mothers, and their fathers too, should have 
some share of the advice. 

In the first place, then, girls make a great mis- 
take in being careless about their health. I do 
not know that they are any more careless than 
boys, but their habits of life, and especially their 
habits of dress, are generally more injurious to 
health than those of boys. The great majority of 
our girls take much less vigorous exercise in the 
open air than is good for them : those who can 
walk three or four miles without exhaustion are 

" It seems to me a mistake," says one of my 
correspondents, "that boys and girls should be 
trained so differently, particularly in regard to out- 
of-door sports. With a strong love for everything 
in nature, I remember as a child what torture it 
was to be kept always in-doors, in some feminine 
employment, while my strong brothers (strong on 
this very account, perhaps) could spend all their 
leisure time in the open air. I was much inter- 
ested years ago in reading a sketch of Harriet 
Hosmer's girlhood. Her father, having lost all his 
children by consumption, and finding her delicate, 
resolved to bring her up as a boy, teaching her all 
sorts of athletic sports, and thus making her a 
strong, healthy woman." 

The lack of exercise on the part of girls is due, 
no doubt, in part, to the foolish styles of dress, in 
which it is impossible for them to be out in rough 
weather, or to make any considerable muscular 
exertion. "The lack of warmth in clothing, and 
the foolish adjustment of what is worn," is said in 
one of these letters to be one of the chief causes 




that produce "the peculiar nervous diseases to 
which women are subject." 

I wish I could make you all understand how 
great a mistake you make when you sacrifice 
health, or the physical comfort on which health 
depends, to appearance or to any other earthly 
good ; when you neglect to provide, by regular ex- 
ercise and wise care, a good stock of physical vigor 
for the labors and the burdens of the coming years. 
Without this foundation, all that you can learn in 
school, and all that wealth can buy for you, will be 
worthless. " Intellect in an enfeebled body," says 
some one whom I quote from memory, "is like 
gold in a spent swimmer's pocket, — it only makes 
him sink the sooner." 

Another great mistake that many of our girls 
are making, and that their mothers are either en- 
couraging or allowing them to make, is that of 
spending their time out of school in idleness, or in 
frivolous amusements, doing no work to speak of, 
and learning nothing about the practical duties 
and the serious cares of life. It is not only in the 
wealthier families that the girls are growing up in- 
dolent and unpracticed in household work ; indeed, 
I think that more attention is paid to the industrial 
training of girls in the wealthiest families, than in 
the families of mechanics and of people in moderate 
circumstances, where the mothers are compelled to 
work hard all the while. 

" Within the last week," says one of my corre- 
spondents, " I have heard two mothers, worthy 
women in most respects, say, the first, that her 
daughter never did any sweeping. Why, if she 
wants to say to her companions, ' I never swept a 
room in my life.' and takes any comfort in it, let 
her say it ; and yet that mother is sorrowing much 
over the short-comings of that very daughter. The 
other said she would not let her daughter do any- 
thing in the kitchen. Poor deluded woman ! She 
did it all herself, instead ! " 

The habits of indolence and of helplessness that 
are thus formed are not the greatest evils resulting 
from this bad practice : the selfishness that it fos- 
ters is the worst thing about it. How devoid of 
conscience, how lacking in all true sense of tender- 
ness, or even of justice, a girl must be, who will 
thus consent to devote all her time out of school to 
pleasuring, while her mother is bearing all the 
heavy burdens of the household ! And the foolish 
way in which mothers themselves sometimes talk 
about this, even in the presence of their children, 
is mischievous in the extreme. " O, Hattie is so 
absorbed with her books, or her crayons, or her 
embroidery, that she takes no interest in household 
matters, and I do not like to call upon her." As 
if the daughter belonged to a superior order of 
beings, and must not soil her hands or ruffle her 

temper with necessary house-work ! The mother is 
the drudge ; the daughter is the fine lady for whom 
she toils. No mother who suffers such a state of 
things as this can preserve the respect of her 
daughter; and the respect of her daughter no 
mother can afford to lose. 

The result of all this is to form in the minds of 
many girls not only a distaste for labor, but a con- 
tempt for it, and a purpose to avoid it as long as 
they live by some means or other. 

There is scarcely one of these forty letters which 
does not mention this as one of the chief errors in 
the training of our girls at the present day. It is 
not universal, but it is altogether too prevalent. 
And I want to say to you, girls, that if you are 
allowing yourselves to grow up with such habits of 
indolence and such notions about work, you are 
preparing for yourselves a miserable future. 

" Work," says one of my letters, — and it is writ- 
ten by a woman who does not need to labor for 
her own support, and who does enjoy with a keen 
relish the refinements of life, — " work, which you 
so plainly showed to be good for our boys, is quite 
as necessary for our girls." 

Closely connected with what has just been said, 
is the mistake of many girls in making dress the 
main business of life. I quote now from one of 
my letters, whose writer has had unusual oppor- 
tunities of observing the things she describes : 

" From the time when the little one can totter 
to the mirror to see ' how sweetly she looks in her 
new hat,' to the hour when the bride at the altar 
gives more thought to the arrangement of her train 
and veil than to the vows she is taking upon her- 
self, too large a share of time and thought is de- 
voted by mothers and daughters to dress." 

" I have heard," writes one of my correspond- 
ents, " a vain mother say of her beautiful baby, 
' I 'm so glad it 's a girl ; I can dress her so much 
finer than I could a boy.'" O woman! woman! 
to what depths of degradation you have sunk when 
you can look into the face of a baby lying in your 
lap, — the face of a child that God has given you to 
train for the service of earth and the glory of 
heaven, — and have such a thought as that find a 
moment's lodgment in your mind ! The pity of it, 
the pity of it, that children should ever be given to 
such women ! It is one of the inscrutable things of 
Providence. What can such a woman do but de- 
stroy the souls of her children ? 

Listen to these strong words of another corre- 
spondent : 

" From the cradle to the casket, and including 
them both, the important question is not of the 
spirit and its destiny, but of the frail house of the 
soul, — how much money it can be made to repre- 
sent, — what becomes it, and is it all in the latest 



fashion. The occasional sight of a young girl sim- 
ply and girlishly dressed is like a sight of a white 
rose after a bewildering walk through lines of holly- 
hocks and sunflowers. It is generally conceded 
that early tastes leave indelible results in character. 
What may be prophesied for the future of our girls 
with their banged, befrizzed hair, jingling orna- 
ments and other fashions, which some one has well 
characterized as ' screaming fashions ' ? " 

It is not that there is any harm in thinking 
about dress, or in wishing to be tastefully attired; 
it is only that personal appearance comes to be in 
the minds of so many of you the one subject, to 
which everything else is subordinate. This weak- 
ness, if indulged, must belittle and degrade you. 

I do not think that the girls, or their mothers, 
are wholly to blame for this absorbing devotion to 
dress. The vanity of women is stimulated by the 
foolishness of men. A young woman who is mod- 
estly and plainly clad is much less likely to attract 
the notice of young men than one who is gorgeous- 
ly arrayed. From bright, intelligent, finely cult- 
ured, sensible girls, whose chief adorning is not the 
adorning of braided hair, or golden ornaments, 
or of gay clothing, the young men often turn away 
in quest of some creature glittering in silks and 
jewelry, with a dull mind and a selfish heart. But 
I beseech you to remember, girls, that a young 
man who cares for nothing but "style" in a woman 
is a young man whose admiration you can well 
afford to do without. If that is all he cares for in 
you, you cannot trust his fidelity ; when you and 
your finery have faded, some bird in gayer feathers 
than you are wearing will easily entice him away 
from you, and the sacred ties of marriage and 
parentage will prove no barrier to his wayward 
fancies. The girl who catches a husband by fine 
dress too often finds that the prize she has won is 
a broken heart. 

Another mistake that many of our girls are 
making is in devoting too much of their time to 
novel-reading. The reading of an occasional novel 
of pure and healthful tone may be not only an in- 
nocent diversion, but a good mental stimulant ; 
but the reading of the lighter sort of novels (which, 
if they do not teach bad morality, do represent life 
in a morbid and unreal light, and awaken cravings 
that never can be satisfied), and the reading of one 
or two or three of them in a week, as is the com- 
mon habit of many of our girls, must prove griev- 
ously injurious to their minds and hearts. It is 
mental dissipation of a very dangerous sort; its influ- 
ence is more insidious than, but I am not sure that 
it is not quite as fatal to character as, the habitual 
use of strong drink. Certainly the mental dissipa- 
tion of novel-reading is vastly more prevalent than 
the other sort of dissipation, not only in "the best 

society," but in the second best, as well ; and five 
women's lives are ruined by the one where one life 
is wrecked by the other. "Ruined," do I say? 
Yes ; no weaker word tells the whole truth. This 
intemperate craving for sensational fiction weakens 
the mental grasp, destroys the love of good read- 
ing, and the power of sober and rational thinking, 
takes away all relish from the realities of life, 
breeds discontent and indolence and selfishness, 
and makes the one who is addicted to it a weak, 
frivolous, petulant, miserable being. I see girls 
all around me in whom these results are working 
themselves out steadily and fatally. 

Another mistake which our girls are making — 
or which their parents are making — is a too early 
initiation into the excitements and frivolities of 
what is called society. It was formerly the rule for 
girls to wait until their school-days were over before 
they made their appearance in fashionable society. 
At what age, let us inquire, docs the average young 
lady of our cities now make her debut? From my 
observations, I should answer at about the age of 
three. They are not older than that when they 
begin to go to children's parties, for which they are 
dressed as elaborately as they would be for a fancy 
ball. From this age onward they are never out of 
society; by the time they are six or eight years old 
they are members of clubs, and spend frequent 
evenings out, and the demands of social diversion 
and display multiply with their years. 

" I think," writes one of my correspondents, 
who loves little girls, " the greatest defect in the 
training of girls is in letting them think too much 
of their clothes and of the boys. Little girls that 
ought to be busy with their books and their dolls 
are often dressed up like dolls themselves, and en- 
couraged to act in a coquettish manner that many 
of their elders could not equal." 

"It seems to me," writes another, "that one 
prominent defect in our modern training of girls is 
undue haste in making them society young ladies, 
and cultivating a fondness for admiration by lavish 
display of dress. Before leaving the nursery, many 
a child does penance by being made a figure on 
which a vain mamma may gratify her taste in 
elegant fabrics and exquisite laces to be exhibited 
at a fashionable children's party. This trait easily 
becomes a controlling one, and girls scarcely in 
their teens, with the blase manner of a woman of 
the world, will scan a lady's dress, tell vou at once 
the quality of the material, the rarity of the laces, 
the value of the jewels — even venture an opinion 
whether or not it be one of Worth's latest designs, 
showing what apt scholars they have become." 

"It is in the claims of society upon our girls," 
writes another, who knows them well, "that their 
strength is most severely taxed, and their charac- 

5 2 4 



ters endangered. To meet creditably the demands 
of this master, our girls must attend day-school, 
dancing-school, take music lessons, go to parties, 
concerts, the theater, sociables ; be active members 
of cooking-clubs, archery-clubs, reading-clubs ; 
ride, skate, walk, and go to the health-lift. To 
do this and to dress with appropriate anxiety for 
each one of the occasions, a young girl runs an 
appalling gauntlet of foes to the healthy develop- 
ment of her soul and body." 

I am sure that the early contact of our girls 
with the vanities and the insincerities and the 
excitements of social life is doing a great injury to 
many of them. Girls of from twelve to sixteen 
years of age, who ought to be in bed every night 
at nine o'clock, are out at parties till midnight, and 
sometimes later, thus destroying their health and 
keeping their young heads filled with thoughts 
which are not conducive to healthy mental or 
moral growth. 

And as for the children's parties to which my cor- 
respondents apply words of such severity, I cannot 
conceive anything more hurtful than they are in 
the way that they are generally managed. If a 
little company of children could be brought to- 
gether in the afternoon or in the early evening, all 
plainly dressed, so that they might romp and play 
to their hearts' content, and take no thought for 
their raiment — if they could be healthily fed, and 
wisely amused, with no resort to kissing-games, 
and no suggestions of beaux — that would be inno- 
cent enough; but to dress these children in silks 
and laces, in kid gloves and kid slippers, with 
frizzed hair and jewelry — to parade them up and 
down the drawing-rooms for the foolish mothers 
who are in attendance to comment on their dresses 
in their hearing, saying, " O, you dear little thing ! 
How sweet you look ! What a beautiful dress ! How 
that color becomes her ! " then to chaff them about 
their lovers and sweethearts, and laugh at their 
precocious flirtations, — oh, it is pitiful ! pitiful ! I 
say to you, mothers, that if there are any children 
for whom my heart aches it is these innocent, beau- 
tiful children who are being sacrificed on the altars 
of foolish fashion. The children of the poor, 
thinly clad, poorly fed, rudely taught, are not any 
more to be pitied than are many of the children of 
the rich; their bodies may suffer more, but their 
souls are not any more likely to be pampered and 
corrupted and destroyed. 

From this early entrance into fashionable society 
the girls go right on, as I have said, plunging a 
little deeper every year into the currents of social 
life, until many of them, as my friend has said, are 
utterly blase before they are twenty. Society is a 
squeezed orange ; they have got all the flavor out 
of it, they have nothing serious nor sacred to live 

for, and you sometimes hear them wishing they 
were dead. 

I suppose that many of us who are parents yield, 
with many misgivings and protests, to this bad 
custom, which drags our children into social life 
and its excitements at such an early age. We 
give in to it because all the rest do, and because it 
is hard to deny to our children what all their com- 
panions are allowed. And sometimes I suspect 
you might go into a company of girls and boys 
who are keeping late hours, and carrying their 
social diversions to an injurious excess, and find 
there not a single child whose parents did not 
heartily disapprove of this excess. Yet the thing is 
allowed, not so much because the parents lack 
authority over their children, as because they lack 
the firmness to resist a bad social custom. 

I will mention only one more sad mistake 
which some, I hope not many, of our girls are 
making, and it shall be described for you in the 
language of one who has had the amplest oppor- 
tunities of knowing whereof she speaks. 

" The most common defect in the training of 
girls is, in my judgment, the ignoring of the com- 
mand to honor and obey parents. From the age 
of thirteen, girls and parents alike seem to regard 
this commandment as a dead letter. The girl of 
thirteen regards herself as her own mistress ; she 
is already a woman in her own estimation, and has 
a right to do as she likes. If she prefers to go to 
parties, sociables, and so forth, three or four even- 
ings in a week, rather than spend her evenings in 
study, she does so. Both she and her parents, how- 
ever, expect and demand that she is to be ranked 
at graduation as high as the laborious, self-denying, 
faithful worker in her class. 

" Again, in one congregation in this city I know 
of four cases well worthy of thoughtful considera- 
tion. The four families ail are respectable, such peo- 
ple as form the majority of your own congregation. 
In each of three of these families is only one child. 
Each one of these three girls left school when she 
chose to do so, went into society when she pleased, 
spent as much time on the street as she liked, and 
all three, still under twenty, have now become a 
by-word and reproach among all who know them. 
In the fourth family there were three girls, two 
of whom cast off all restraint, while father and 
mother were regularly taking part in prayer-meet- 
ings. This father and mother excused themselves 
by saying they did not know what their girls were 
doing, yet the girls lived at home all the time and 
their neighbors knew all about their conduct." 

This habit of running loose, of constantly seek- 
ing the street for amusement, and even of making 
chance acquaintances there, is practiced by some 
of the girls of our good families, and it is not at 




all pleasant to see them on the public thorough- 
fares, and to witness their hoydenish ways. I know 
that they mean no harm by it, but it often results 
in harm ; the delicate bloom of maiden modest)' 
is soiled by too much familiarity with the public 
streets of a city, and a kind of boldness is acquired 
which is not becoming in a woman. 

Such are some of the errors which are frequently 
committed in the training of our girls, and some 
of the dangers to which they are exposed ; I am 
sure that you will see that none of them are 
imaginary, and that all of them are serious. I 
know that many of you girls, and mothers, too, 
are fully aware of them, and on your guard against 
them. If I have succeeded in drawing the more 
careful attention of any of you to any of them, I 
shall not have written in vain. 

I have left myself small space to speak of the 
principles and habits requisite to the development 
of a noble womanhood. These, however, have 
been suggested in what I have said already. In 
avoiding the mistakes to which I have referred, 
you will be guided to the right principles of con- 
duct. Let me speak very briefly of some of the 
elements which go to make up a beautiful womanly 
character : 

The first is industry. Willingness and ability 
to work lie, as I have said already, at the basis of 
all good character. The moral discipline, the 
patience, the steadiness of purpose, the power to 
overcome, that are gained in work, and only in 
work, are just as necessary to women as to men ; 
and the girl who is given no chance of learning 
these traits is sadly defrauded. 

Besides, there are certain strong reasons why 
girls ought to be well trained in that particular 
kind of work which they are most likely to be 
called to perform. " All women, however situ- 
ated," writes one of my correspondents, " should 
have a practical knowledge of manual labor ; 
should know how to cook, to purchase household 
stores, how to avoid waste, how to buy, cut and 
sew garments, how to nurse the sick. All these 
things should be a part of a thorough education, 
and few women can pass through life, no matter 
what their means or station, who will not find the 
time when such knowledge will help others, even if 
they personally may get on very well without it." 
So say a great many of them, and it is all true. 

'• I would train my daughter," writes one, "to 
regard all work, in the broadest meaning, as hon- 
orable. Whatever is necessary to be done is 
honorable work, for highest and lowest alike." 

After industry comes thoroughness. It is not 
enough to be busy ; we ought to do well whatever 
our hands find to do, else we may be forced to say 
what Hugo Grotius said when he came to the end: 

" Alas! I have spent my life in laboriously doing 
nothing." To be thorough in study, to be thor- 
ough in all work, ought to be the aim of every girl, 
not less than of every boy. Our methods of female 
education have encouraged superficiality rather 
than thoroughness ; we have given our girls smat- 
terings of many things, and mastery of few things. 
We teach them a little Latin, and a little French, 
and a little Italian, and a little German, and a 
little Spanish, and a little English — precious little, 
too, generally ; we give them a few lessons on the 
piano (not often too few, however, of these), and 
a few lessons on the organ, and a few on the harp, 
and a few on the guitar, and a few, perhaps, on 
the violin or the banjo ; we let them take oil- 
painting for a quarter, and water-colors for a 
quarter, and crayons for a quarter, and china dec- 
oration for a quarter, and so on, and so on ; and 
the poor things, when they are done with it all, 
know a little of everything, and not much of any- 
thing. Don't do it, girls ; life is short and art 
is long ; you cannot be mistresses of all the arts. 
It is better to confine yourselves to a single branch 
and make yourselves proficient in that. It is much 
better to say, " This one thing I do" than to say, 
" These forty things I dabble in." 

After thoroughness, independence. A habit 
of relying on your own judgment, a habit of 
thinking for yourself, and caring for yourself, not 
selfishly, but in a true womanly fashion — a habit 
of taking responsibility and bearing it bravely is 
one of the habits that women as well as men need 
to cultivate. Your parents ought to give you some 
chance to form this habit ; it is a great mistake to 
shield a girl from all care, and then, by and by, 
when the helpers on whom she has leaned fall by 
her side, to leave her with judgment untrained and 
powers undisciplined, to carry the burdens of life. 

Respect for character, for manhood and woman- 
hood, more than for money or rank, or even 
genius, is another of the first lessons that every 
girl ought to learn. Virtue, truth, fidelity, these 
are the shining things that every true woman 
honors, and she who values above these a coat-of- 
arms or a bank account, degrades herself. There 
is a silly snobbery among some of our girls that is 
the reverse of lovely. I see them now and then 
spurning association with worthy young men and 
women who are poor, and hear them talking in a 
large way about blue blood, when all the blue 
blood that is in their veins flowed into them from 
the veins of tanners or wood-choppers. Shame 
upon the girl who cannot recognize and honor 
in others the same qualities that lifted her father 
or her grandfather to wealth and station ! 

I might speak of many other elements of char- 
acter indispensable to the truest womanhood, such 




as truthfulness, and conscientiousness, and purity, 
and modesty, and fidelity, but I will only name 
one more which sums up much of what my friends 
have written, and that is : 

Consecration. It is a great word. It means 
many things. It means, to begin with, that God 
has some purpose concerning you, some good 
work for each of you to do. It means that He has 
given you the power to serve in some way, and 
that He wishes you to devote that power which 
He has given you to that service for which He 
created you. What kind of work He has for you 
to do I cannot tell ; but I know that He has called 
every one of you with a high calling, to some 
ennobling work. Not to be butterflies, not to be 
drones, not to be sponges, has He called any of 
you; but to be helpers, and ministers, and friends of 
all good ; to wait with ready hands and loving hearts 
for the service that you can do for Him. Most of 
you will be called, by and by, to the dignity of wife- 
hood and motherhood ; there is no greater dignity 
than that and no nobler work. 

One of the ladies asked me to describe the 
successful woman. There is more than one type, 
I answer, but among them all is none more illus- 
trious than that of the wife and mother ; the 
woman who builds and rules a beautiful and happy 
home ; who holds the honor of her husband and 
the reverence of her children ; who leads those 
whom God has given her up to vigorous and vir- 
tuous manhood and womanhood, imparting to 
them by daily communion with them her own 
wisdom and nobleness, and sending them forth 
to do good and brave service in the world. The 

woman who does such work as this, I say, is a 
successful woman ; and there is no grander work 
than this within the measure of a man or even 
of an angel. 

But marriage is not for all of you, and should 
not be for any of you the chief end. " I try to 
teach my daughter," writes one, "that while 
happy wifehood is the glory and blessing of every 
true-hearted woman's life, and maternity the crown 
of this — more to be desired than queendom, she 
should hold herself too pure and dear a thing to 
marry for home, or position, or because it is ex- 
pected of her." Many women are living happily 
and nobly out of wedlock, and no one is fit for it 
who is not fit to live without it. 

To what kind of service our Lord has called you, 
then, I cannot tell ; but I know that for you as for 
Him, the joy of life must be, not in being minis- 
tered unto, but in ministering. God help you to 
understand it, girls, before it is too late. There is 
so much good in living, if one knows how to live ; 
there is such delight in serving when one has 
learned to serve, that I do not like to see any of 
you going on aimlessly and selfishly, and laying up 
in store for yourselves a future of disquietude and 
gloom. There is a better and brighter way than 
this, a way that has never been pointed out more 
clearly than in the simple words of our good friend, 
Mr. Hale: "To look up and not down; to look 
forward and not back ; to look out and not in ; 
and to lend a hand." Set your feet in that path, 
and follow it patiently, and you will find it the 
path " that shineth more and more unto the 
perfect day." 

By H. H. Ballard. 

THE sun was shining happily one morning. So 
was Tommy's face. 

" I 'm goin' strawberry in'," said he. 

" So 'm I," said his small sister Polly. 

" No you aint, neither," said Tommy. " Sisters 
are always taggin' on to everybody." 

So he went off alone. 

He knew where the large red berries grew — 
" thicker 'n hops " — and he could pick a whole 
pailful and "never eat a single one." He had 
to cross a meadow on his way to the hill where 
he knew a "spot that nobody else could find." 

In this meadow lived a black and white bobo- 

link. Bobolinks are great chatterboxes, as every 
one knows ; and this particular bobolink, as soon as 
he caught sight of Tommy, bubbled up from the 
grass, and tumbled out of himself the queerest 
jargon in the world. 

"Bobolink, bobolink, what do you think? 
Where 's your sister, Tommy ? Tell me quick- 
er 'n a wink, wink, wink ! " 

This made Tommy's face very red. He picked 
up a stone and threw it at the bird. It struck the 
bird's head and stopped all the beautiful music. 

" I wonder what makes everything so cross and 
ugly this morning ! " thought Tommy. 




Just then, a great yellow butterfly fluttered past ground like a chipmunk and then dart down a 
his face. no ' e m tne ground, before he could say " Jack 

" Hi !" says Tommy. " I 'II fix you ! " Robinson"! 

So he struck it with his big straw hat, and, pinch- 
ing its delicate wings in his rough fingers, he stuck 
a pin through it and fastened it on his hat-band. 

Nothing else happened until he had come to 
where the strawberries lay dreaming under the 
cool green leaves. 

He soon had his pail filled, and was about to 
start for home, when he spied a little brown rabbit 
sitting on its hind legs and looking at him with 
two funny little eyes. 

" Hi ! " said Tommy. " I '11 fix you ! " 
So he picked up a stick and struck at the rabbit 
with all his might ; but what was his surprise to 
see the stick slip from his hand, run along the 

There stood the rabbit, too — only a little farther 
off — and it had one eye shut. 

Tommy wondered whether he had put the eye 
out when he struck, or whether the rabbit was 
winking at him. 

" We Ml see," said Tommy. 

With that, he started in pursuit of the rabbit, 
which, however, did not turn around and bound 
away as rabbits generally do ; but, still facing the 
boy, it began to hop backward so rapidly that 
Tommy hardly could keep it in sight. 

The pail of berries was thrown aside in the 
eagerness of the race, and the golden curls blew 
all around Tommy's glowing cheeks as he ran on 




and on. Pretty soon it began to grow dark, and 
then the little boy noticed for the first time that he 
was in the midst of a lonely forest. 

Once he thought he saw a face with tears on it 
looking at him out of the branches of a great oak- 
tree ; but how could his sister be away out there 
and up in a tree ? 

" It 's only a shadder," said Tom; but he was 
growing a trifle uneasy. So he whistled. 

No sooner had the first clear notes rung out in 
the woods, than they were caught up and echoed 
from a thousand points — only instead of the tune 
which he meant to whistle, he heard all around 
him : 

"Bobolink, bobolink! What do you think? 
This boy killed a butterfly ! Spink, spank, 

" Bobolinks don't live in woods," said Tommy ; 
"That's nuthin but a chipmunk — you can't fool 

But his legs began to grow quite shaky all at 
once, and somehow or other his whistle died away. 
By this time it was very dark indeed. 

" Now is a good time to have your photograph 
taken, my boy," said a shrill voice close to poor 
Tommy's ear. He started, but seeing only the little 
rabbit, which he had been chasing so long, he 
plucked up courage enough to say : 

" H'm ! rabbits can't take photographs! No- 
body can take 'em when it 's all darker 'n Egypt, 
any how," he added, emphatically. 

" We prefer the dark for taking bad boys' pict- 
ures," said the rabbit, who, to Tommy's terror, was 
growing bigger and bigger. "Just you sit down 
on this stump," he continued in a rougher voice, 
"and I '11 fix you." 

Tommy felt he must obey. Then the rabbit, 
who was by this time as big as a bear, brought a 
stout hickory sapling and stuck it up in the ground 
behind Tommy, for a head-rest. 

It was n't very comfortable, though, for the 
rabbit twisted a branch around the boy's head so 
tight that it made him as fast as the poor butterfly 
on his hat. 

Then the rabbit went off a little way, and 
pointed the end of a hollow log at the boy, put- 
ting his own head behind it and peering through 
at him, just as real photographers do. 

"Look a little more pleasant," said the rabbit; 
but it was all Tommy could do to keep the tears 
from flowing. 

" Don't you wink," said the rabbit. 

But there was no use in his saying this, for 
Tommy could no more wink than he could <ret off 
from that stump and run home — which is saying 
a great deal. 

"One done," said the rabbit; "but we must 
try again, this is very poor indeed." 

Poor Tommy shivered and trembled all over, 
for, every time the rabbit looked at him now, he 
felt as cold as ice. 

After four pictures had been taken, the rabbit 
untwisted the branch from his head, pushed him 
off the stump, gave him the photographs wrapped 
up in a big leaf, and bade him run home and give 
them to his mother, without daring to so much as 
look behind him. 

" If you do," said the rabbit, " we '11 fix you." 

" I will remember," said Tommy, only too glad 
to get out of that dreadful place. 

Then the woods were gone, and the rabbit, and 
the bobolink songs, and right before him he saw 
his own beautiful home and his mother looking out 
to see if her boy were coming. 

Tommy felt almost like running off to hide, but 
he did n't dare disobey the rabbit. So he went 
slowly up to his mother and gave her his pictures. 
When she opened them, she looked very sad. 

The first one showed Tommy just as he had 
looked when he spoke so crossly to his little sister 
that morning. 

His eyes were all puckered and his mouth drawn 
down in anger. 

The second was taken just as he was throwing a 
stone at the pretty bobolink, and in one corner 
was a picture of the little bird with its head hang- 
ing all on one side — dead. 

Then came a sorry-looking photograph of the 
pinned butterfly, and last of all Tommy striking 
at the little rabbit. 

All of them were perfectly black — like the sil- 
houettes of your grandfather in mamma's room, or 
somebody's grandfather in some other room. 

"Please, mamma, burn those horrid pictures up," 
said Tommy, "and I '11 never, never, never be so 
mean again 's long 's I live and breathe." 

His mother told him that although she could 
easily burn those pictures, yet that every time he 
said such cross words and did such cruel things, a 
picture of them was made on his own heart — inside 
of him — which could n't be gotten rid of so easily. 

" Guess I '11 be pretty careful how I sit for such 
photographs," said Tommy. 

And he was. 





By F. Blake Crofton. 



It once struck me that ballooning would be the 
pleasantest way of traveling in my business, lifting 
me above the sands, beasts and barbarians of the 
desert. So I had a big balloon constructed, with a 
patent rudder, guaranteed to steer against any 
ordinary wind. One day, when the breeze blew 
inland, I embarked, thinking my return voyage 
would be plain sailing, owing to the patent rudder 
and to the figuring of a man of science, who 
proved quite clearly that an upper current of air 
set steadily from the desert to the western ocean. 
But either the upper current of air or the patent 
rudder went all wrong, and I was landed at Mo- 
rocco, from which city I made my way home by 
sea, with the loss of four months' time, my whole 
cargo of feathers, and every cent I had taken out 
with me. 

For the future, I confined my ballooning to short 
voyages of exploration. 

On one of these occasions, my supply of water 
had nearly run out, when, noticing a stream, as I 
thought, I descended and made fast the balloon. 
What I fancied was a brook turned out, however, 
to be a wady — that is, one of the dried-up water- 

courses of the Sahara. As I turned back empty- 
handed, I saw a prettily spotted animal, which 
proved to be a baby-leopard, playing like a kitten 
in the wady. I caught the creature and hoisted it 
into the car by a rope. Then, as no living thing 
was in sight, I was leisurely preparing to launch 
my air-ship once more. Two of the three ropes 
which secured it to the earth were already cut, and 
I was turning to cut the third, when I was horrified 
at seeing the mother-leopard creeping toward 
me, noiselessly but swiftly, and with a revengeful 
gleam in her eyes. 

The infuriated beast was now barely forty feet 
away, and I had enough presence of mind left to 
lose no time in cutting the last rope. The liber- 
ated balloon rose majestically in the air — about a 
second too late. While I was severing the rope, 
the leopard had reduced her distance, and when I 
had finished she was poised for a spring. Up she 
bounded, the embodiment of cruelty and grace, 
her paws outstretched, her tail stiff, her jaws dis- 
tended, her eyes flashing. Her fore claws only 
just reached the bottom of the rising car; but they 
grasped it like grim death, and she soon clambered 
into the car, nearly capsizing it in the process. 
Then she stood a moment over her sprawling cub 




and gave a roar, whether a roar of greeting to the 
cub or of menace to me I did not even try to 
guess. Just at that time, I was going up the ropes 
which secured the car to the balloon, in a way 
that would have won the prize at any gymnastic 

In a few seconds I was clinging to the netting 
of the balloon, and glancing uneasily down at the 
" bearded pard." 

A glance showed me there was no immediate 
danger from the leopard. She was quite as 
alarmed as I was. Her first movement, when she 
perceived the earth receding beneath her, was to 
seize her cub in her teeth and hasten to the edge 
of the car, as if about to spring to the ground. 
But the height was too great, and, abandoning her 
intention, she dropped the cub and whined in 
abject terror. 

I had now time to reflect. Even if I wished to 
make the balloon descend, in the hope that the 
frightened leopard might leap to the ground at 
the first opportunity, I had not the means of doing 
so from where I was. To go down into the car 
while the leopard remained there alive, seemed 
like putting my head in a lion's mouth, and I had 
no means of killing the beast, for my fire-arms 
were also in the car. Meantime, though I had 
secured a foothold in the netting, the strain on the 
muscles of my hands and arms was great, and I 
could not support it forever. At last I drew my 
knife, which, in my hurry, I had luckily shoved 
into my pocket unclasped, and, climbing around 
the base of the balloon, began severing the ropes 
which attached the car to it. As the car swung 
downward, supported by the last two ropes, the 
young leopard fell to earth; but its mother, be- 
coming suddenly conscious of what I was doing, 
sprang upward and struggled hard to climb the 
single rope that remained uncut — for the other, 
half severed, had yielded when she sprang. It 
was a trying moment, but the knife was sharp and 
I managed to divide the rope in time. 

Down fell the car, and the leopard after it, still 
grasping the rope with her claws. Sometimes the 
car was uppermost, sometimes the beast. In spite 
of my own perilous position, I could not help watch- 
ing this terrific see-saw in the air, until beast and 
car, after shrinking to mere specs, were dashed to 
pieces on the ground. Fortunately for me, my eyes 
were accustomed to dizzy heights. 

I had provided against the too rapid ascent of 
the balloon, when lightened of so great a weight, 
by cutting a small hole in its side. But this proved 
insufficient to stop its upward progress. So I 
made other small holes with great caution — for 
my only chance of a successful descent was to let 
the gas escape by slow degrees. My task was not 

an easy one, for the balloon, cut loose from its bal- 
last, now lay over considerably on one side, with 
me beneath. The strain on my hands had conse- 
quently grown much greater. However, I eased 
it somewhat by getting one leg inside the netting, 
and soon I was glad to perceive, from the gently 
upward direction of the loose ropes, that I was 
beginning to descend. The motion grew more 
and more rapid, and though I managed to reduce 


its rapidity for a time by cutting off all the swing- 
ing ropes within my reach, I should probably have 
been maimed, or killed outright, had I not alighted 
on the long, feathery leaves of a date-palm, in the 
center of a beautiful cluster of these trees. 

After refreshing myself with some dates, and 
filling my pockets with more, I struck into the 
desert to seek the wreck of the car, and especially 
my rifle and revolver, without which I had no 
hopes of reaching civilization again. My ruined 
balloon did me a last service, as it limped over the 
tops of the palms : it enabled me to tell the direc- 
tion of the wind, which I could not have discovered 



otherwise, for it was nearly a dead calm. By 
going directly against the wind, I knew I must 
draw near the objects of my search. I found the 
shattered car and the leopard by it ; but rifle and 
pistol were bent and broken beyond any possibility 
of use or repair. 

But the way I got home is a story in itself. 


So HERE goes for Story No. III. When I 
found my fire-arms smashed, I was dumbfounded 
for a minute or so. Then, as the sun was just 
setting, I looked over the wreck of the car, and 
picked out a thin rope, and the skin in which I 
used to carry my water, and which still held about 
half a gallon. I built a fire out of the remnants 
of the car and its contents, and, stretching my 
feet toward it, fell asleep almost instantaneously. 
I was too tired to make any plans. 

Next morning I was awakened by a sharp pain 
on my right cheek, and, opening my eyes, I saw a 
vulture perched upon my breast, and preparing to 
have a second and more satisfactory peck at my 
face, if I should happily prove to be dead or mor- 
tally wounded. I jumped up with a shout, which 
scared the cowardly bird and a whole flock of his 
mates that were feeding on the carcass of the 

The course of the balloon had been nearly due 
east, and, as well as I could guess at its average 
speed, I was not much more than a hundred miles 
from the coast. So, after breakfasting on the rest 
of the dates and a small allowance of water, I took 
Horace Greeley's advice to young men, and went 

" How could you tell which side was the west ?" 
you will ask. 

Well, the sun, my dears, very kindly got up 
that morning at about the usual time and place. 
And during the whole of the first day I made for 
a distant clump of trees which lay but little out of 
my course. 

I reached the clump half broiled and without a 
drop of water, having used up most of my supply 
in moistening my head to keep off sunstroke. 
However, the trees were date-palms and grew over 
a brook, as these trees commonly do. So I found 
an abundance of food, drink and fuel, and slept as 
soundly and safely as the night before. 

I started into the desert early next morning 
in better spirits, for I was some twenty-five miles 
nearer home, and had not, so far, met a beast 
of prey, though I had heard one roaring near 
my fire. 

About noon I observed an animal behind me, 

but too faraway to recognize. Some minutes later 
I looked round again, and saw it in about the same 
position. This looked as if it was following me. I 
felt uncomfortable, and glanced back a third time. 
It was a little nearer now, and I perceived, to my 
alarm, that its color was tawny. Wishing to know 
the worst, I halted. To my surprise, the animal 
halted, too. Its motion had been stealthy and 
cat-like ; but now its pose was bold and command- 
ing, as it raised its head and paused to contemplate 

If I had any doubts remaining, they were soon 
gone, for the beast lifted its head higher, and 
proved its identity by roaring as only lions can 

Though much alarmed at this, I had presence 
of mind enough not to turn and flee at this 
terrible summons. On the contrary, I looked the 
lion steadily in the face for some minutes, and 
then calmly l'esumed my journey west. 

As I had hoped, he did not charge, but con- 
tinued to follow at the same interval. When I 
halted again, he halted, too ; when I walked, he 
walked after me. He apparently meant to attack 
me in the dark, when lions are boldest. 

Several times that day I was on the point of end- 
ing my fearful suspense by rushing at my pursuer, 
and forcing him either to fly, or else to eat me for 
his dinner instead of for his supper. But each time 
some new hope would spring up in my breast, and 
I would trudge on still. Once I remembered An- 
drocles, and hoped that the lion might tread upon 
a thorn. Another time I thought of the man in a 
similar plight with myself, who, happily combin- 
ing presence of mind with absence of body, raised 
his cloak and hat on a stick, and induced a deluded 
lion to spring at it, and fall down a convenient 
precipice. Time and again I hoped for trees, and 
time and again I asked myself the conundrum, 
"Why is a lion like an oyster?" and comforted 
myself with the answer, "Because neither can 
climb a tree." Yes; if I were only up a tree, I 
would fear the lion no more than any oyster of the 
same size and weight. 

I think I could have climbed anything just then, 
— a branchless palm, the North Pole, a genealogi- 
cal tree. But I could see nothing higher than 
myself, except the sun. 

At last I came to a slight rise in the boundless 
waste. From the summit I saw neither rock nor 
tree. Two cassavas were in sight, but they were 
only stunted shrubs, a few feet high. The sun was 
at the horizon, and the lion had decreased his dis- 
tance visibly. 

I felt the courage of despair, and was about to 
turn and force the wild beast to kill me then or 
never, when I saw something rise out of the long 

53 2 



shadow cast by the cassavas in the setting sun. 
I soon discovered that it was a large ostrich, which 
had been frightened by some sight or sound at the 
other side of the bushes, for it came straight toward 
me, using wings and legs, as ostriches do when 
hurried or alarmed. 

In a moment, I had formed a plan of escape. I 
headed the huge bird, and shouted at it. It fled 
in bewilderment back to the cassavas, where, ac- 
cording to its silly custom, it thrust its head into 
the leaves and halted, in the belief that not to see 
involves not to be seen. 

It was a double chase; for no sooner did I begin 
to run after the ostrich than the Hon, echoing my 
shout with compound interest, started in pursuit. 
To a looker-on, the race would have shown 
strange contrasts, — the flapping, waddling, fright- 
ened ostrich : the man running silently for life ; 
the roaring lion, with successive bounds, hastening 
after his prey. 

I was a good hand at leap-frog when I was at 
school. I had often leaped on to the sixth or 
seventh back at the old game of "High Cock- 
alorum." But I never had so high ''a back" 
given me before as that now offered by the uncon- 
scious ostrich. Still, I never had so much encour- 
agement to distinguish myself at any game before, 
for a hungry lion had never been the next player 
behind me ! 

Mustering all my strength, I sprang into the 
air, tipping the ostrich's tail with my fingers as I 
flew over it. In another moment I was seated 
comfortably on the back of the bird, holding tightly 
to its neck with both hands. The huge creature, 
terrified no less by the roaring of the lion, now 
hardly fifty yards behind, than by the mysterious 
weight on its back, hastily raised its head from the 
cassava bush, and went off at a pace which soon 
distanced our pursuer. 

We traveled all night, and on the following 
afternoon struck the coast, six miles below the 
trading-post, which we reached at sun-down. 

" But what did the ostrich eat on the wav, 

Major?" you will say. 

Chiefly money. 


Yes; money. I suppose you are aware that 
ostriches are fond of eating stones and metals. 
Well, I thought a few coins might be a pleasant 
change for my ostrich, and I had a quantity of 
gold coins in a belt, to provide against accidents, 
as my habit was when ballooning. So I threw him 
a sovereign, which he swallowed eagerly ; then an 
eagle, which he seemed to enjoy still more. At 
least, he ran to it, and stooped for it with more 
haste. — whether because it was a larger coin, or 
because it was of American manufacture, I am un- 
able to decide. 

" How did you get him to go in one direction all 
the time ? " 1 hear. 

By making a slip noose on my rope and lasso- 
ing his neck, keeping the ends of the rope in my 
hands to act as reins. I put two knots on the 
rope, to prevent the noose from getting too tight 
and strangling the bird; yet I managed to make 
it mighty disagreeable for him when he tried to 
alter his course. While the coins lasted, I had no 
trouble at all ; for, whenever he wanted to turn, I 
just threw one straight ahead, and by the time the 
silly bird had reached it he had quite forgotten his 
desire to turn. 

" What a lot it cost to feed that ostrich !" do 
you say ? 

Bless your soul, it did n't cost a cent. If I 
never got home, the money was no use to me ; if I 
did, I knew I could get it back. I hated to shoot 
that ostrich ; but times were bad, and I could not 
afford to wait and find out whether the bird would 
lay golden eggs. 

The feathers of that ostrich wave to-day from 
my aunt's bonnet. I brought them home as wit- 
nesses of my adventure. The yellowish tinge in 
them is owing to the large quantity of gold swal- 
lowed by my two-legged steed. 





By Lucv Larcom. 

A BUBBLE of music floats 

The slope of the hill-side over, — 
A little wandering sparrow's notes, — 

On the bloom of yarrow and clover. 
And the smell of sweet-fern and the bayberry-leaf 

On his ripple of song are stealing ; 
For he is a chartered thief, 

The wealth of the fields revealing. 

One syllable, clear and soft 

As a raindrop's silvery patter, 
Or a tinkling fairy-bell, heard aloft, 

In the midst of the merry chatter 
Of robin and linnet and wren and jay; — 

One syllable, oft repeated. 
He has but a word to say, 

And of that he will not be cheated. 

The singer I have not seen ; 

But the song I arise and follow 
The brown hills over, the pastures green, 

And into the sunlit hollow. 
With the joy of a lowly heart's content 

I can feel my glad eyes glisten, 
Though he hides in his happy tent, 

While I stand outside and listen. 

This way would I also sing, 

My dear little hill-side neighbor ! 
A tender carol of peace to bring 

To the sunburnt fields of labor, 
Is better than making a loud ado. 

Trill on, amid clover and yarrow, — 
There 's a heart-beat echoing you, 

And blessing you, blithe little sparrow ! 


By George Houghton. 

One Monday morning, last June, I drew the 
chair up to my office desk, and prepared to begin 
my week's work. First, I opened and read the 
letters, — one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, — O ! 
too many to count ; then I cut open all the news- 
papers, — there were enough to paper the front of 
the building ; and at last I came to a strange round 
parcel, and wondering what could be in that, I 
took off the pink string and wrappings that sur- 
rounded it, when out rolled a tin mustard-box, with 
four holes punched in the lid. What to make of 
this I did n't know. I tried to twist off the cover, 
but it would not stir. Then I rapped it gently 
with a ruler, when, all of a sudden, — pop ! off 
came the lid, and out sprang a wad of cotton wool, 
and a queer little drab and yellow thing, three 
or four inches long, that squatted down among the 
papers. Four small legs, a big tail, a head with 
six horns, and a coat of many colors : that seemed 
to be all of it. I waited for it to move, but it kept 
still, so very still that I thought it must be dead, 
so I gave it a poke with my pen-handle, when 
" Ptsch / " away it ran, like a mouse, over papers 
and letters, down to the carpet, across the floor, 
and into a dark corner behind the safe. 

Thus was I introduced to " Lizbeth," the horned 
lizard, or horned toad, which my friend, the Pro- 
fessor, had sent me from Colorado. 

I carried her home with me that night, and in a 
few days she came to be looked upon as one of the 
family. She took possession of one of the broad 
window-seats in the library, where she had a cigar- 
box for her house and a hickory twig for furniture. 
Here she spent most of her time. In the morning 
she lay in the sunshine, or clung to the window-sill to 
look out at the ailantus-tree opposite. She showed 
only one bad trait, — she would not eat, and for 
five weeks she was never known to take any food 
or drink. But this did n't trouble her as much as 
it did the rest of us. She continued to look plump, 
and the Professor tells me that she could have fasted 
for six months without starving. One night I put 
four beetles in the cigar-box with her, fastening 
down the cover ; in the morning they were gone, 
and from that time she had a good appetite, 
and devoted most of her waking hours to appeas- 
ing it with such flies, ants, or beetles, as came 
within reach of her. I once counted fifty flies that 
went into her mouth within as many minutes. 

And she always was ready for contributions of in- 





sects, but they must be alive. If you took a fly by 
one wing and held it, buzzing, two or three inches 
from her mouth, suddenly out flashed a small 
stubby tongue, with a sort of mucilage on the end 
of it, and before you knew just what had happened, 
the fly was swallowed. 

Lizbeth soon learned to recognize the members 
of the family, and would often follow us from room 
to room. She showed intelligence in many ways ; 
we taught her several tricks, such as lying on her 
back as if dead, and sitting on her haunches with 
back against an inkstand, and demurely holding a 
tooth-pick in one of her small hands, and when 
hungry for a meal, she would come to us with open 
mouth, as a sign of readiness. She was always 
pleased to have her neck scratched, or to be held 
in one's hand, when she would snuggle down into 
the warm palm and go to sleep. 

One day in September, three months after Liz- 
beth's arrival, a very important event happened. 
There came another tin mustard-box from the Pro- 
fessor, who was then with the Wheeler Exploring 
Expedition in California, and in it was a baby com- 
panion for Lizbeth, — according to the Professor's 
standard of beauty, the prettiest creature alive. It 
was three inches long, and had five gold bands 
across its back, black shading just before each, 
and a beautiful white stomacher. 

So now there were two heads that peeped out 
from the library window at the ailantus-tree, and 
two hungry mouths to fill with flies and beetles. 
Baby soon became the favorite. The color of her 
coat was prettier, and she had no horns on her 
head. You may wonder what Lizbeth's horns were 
for. I hardly know, unless as a substitute for a 
shovel in digging into the soil, but she used hers 
very skillfully to pry open the lid of her cigar-box. 

Lizbeth was the livelier of the two. While a lady 
caller, one evening, was seated near the center- 
table, Lizbeth sprang out of a hat and alighted on 
her hand, uttering a shrill "Ptschf" and giving 
her a fright and a hatred of the " beasts " (as she 
called them), from which she never fully recov- 
ered. A Danish gentleman, who visits us some- 
times, nearly fainted when he first saw her 
approaching, and ever afterward, when he called, 
he used to push his head through the half-opened 
door, asking "Where are dose reptiles?" and 
when told, he seated himself at the farthest corner 
of the room, and on the very edge of his chair, 
ready at the first appearance of Lizbeth or Baby 
to escape through the door. 

It may be you would not have liked Lizbeth and 
the Baby at first sight. You might have thought 
them too much like toads. But if you could have 
seen the two as they climbed over my mother's 
sewing, while she sat at work, scrambling in and 


out of her pockets, stopping now and then to wink 
or scratch their heads with the hind leg, or if you 
could have watched them follow her from room to 
room, scampering like mice and then falling asleep 
in a square of sunlight at her feet, I feel sure you 
would soon have been willing to hold their soft 
little bodies in your hand, that you might examine 
their many-colored coats, which were very pretty, 
looking like bits of Persian carpet surrounded by 

There is one queer fact about the horned lizards' 
j coats, — they 

change color 
to match the 
surface on 
which they 
live, thus re- 
sembling the 
though having 
the queer pow- 
er in a less de- 
gree. In trav- 
eling through 
Nevada and 
Colorado, one 
may see many 
color varieties 

of the same species, the changes in tint taking 
place in accordance with similar shades of the 
soil. I have seen one that was pure white all 
over — an albino, perhaps. Why do you suppose 
Mother Nature gave them this singular power? 
I think there were two reasons. In the first 





place, they have no means of defense ; they can- 
not bite norsting nor scratch, but they crouch closely 
upon the soil, and lie so quietly, that, if of the 
same color as the ground, it is next to impossible 
to catch sight of one until it stirs. When dis- 
covered, they will generally act as if dead, even 
though roughly handled. Dr. Coues says that 
they show special fear of dogs. On the approach 
of a dog, he says, they will raise themselves to the 
full length of their legs, puff out the body, open 
the mouth, and hiss violently. There is, no doubt, 
some special reason for this aversion. It may be 
that the coyote, the dog of the plains, includes 
horned lizards in his varied bill of fare, and that 
from this fact they instinctively recognize an enemy 
in all dogs. 

In the second place, the gift of color mimicry 
helps the horned lizards to obtain food. Their 
legs are too short to enable them, like their 
cousins, the true lizards, to run down their prey, 
and knowing this, they adopt a different method. 
When an unlucky fly alights a few inches from 
what appears a mere bunch of earth, our little 
friend, with body compressed and movements so 
slow and regular as to be unnoticed, creeps close 
to the unsuspecting insect, and with a flash of the 
tongue secures the welcome morsel. Beetles it 
catches more easily, and when it is at home in the 
dry, sandy wastes west of the Great Plains, and in 
Texas, these form its chief food. The agreeable 
odor, like musk, which it emits when warm, is 
also a noteworthy fact, and this may have an influ- 
ence in attracting insects. Aided by this and by 
sugar sprinkled around them, Lizbeth and Baby 
found no lack of prey during the warm weather. 

Early in October, however, the weather changed, 
and there began to be a suggestion of snow in the 

air. They felt the cold keenly, and when- the 
sun left the window, they would creep under the 
curtain tassel and lie there dormant all the after- 
noon. Then we brought them a larger box, filled 
with loam and vegetable mold, and as the weather 
grew colder, they generally buried themselves, 
after breakfast, in the soft soil, leaving only their 
noses exposed, and slept there until breakfast-time 
next morning, when, if not too cold, they crept 
out to beg for a bug or a fly. And I was so afraid 
that before spring came their coats would change 
to the color of dirt, that I dug them up every little 
while to see whether they had changed already. 
And they had. Lizbeth's beautiful white stomacher 
became brown, and those gold spots on Baby's 
shoulders were getting to be very dull. 

One bleak day in January, I carried them both, 
in my coat-pockets, to the studio of Mr. Church, 
the artist. I wanted him to draw their portraits. 
He made some pictures of them, but unfortunately 
Lizbeth took cold, and became quite ill. For two 
days she languished. She took no interest in any- 
thing. On the second day I thought I might 
divert her by letting her do some of her tricks 
with a tooth-pick. She took the tooth-pick in her 
little hands, and breathed her last. 

Troubles never come singly. On the next 
morning but one, I found Baby's box on the floor 
of the library ; the dirt was scattered over the car- 
pet, and, on her back, under the center-table, lay 
poor Baby ! The kitten had been playing with 
her, had tumbled her about the room, had rolled 
on her, and pawed her, and killed her ! 

Alas ! Though the spring shall come, with 
many beetles and bugs in its train, it will bring me 
only sad remembrances of my little friends, the 
horned lizards. 





By Louisa M. Alcott. 

Chapter XI. 


The greatest people have their weak points, 
and the best-behaved boys now and then yield to 
temptation and get into trouble, as everybody 
knows. Frank was considered a remarkably well- 
bred and proper lad, and rather prided himself on 
his good reputation, for he never got into scrapes 
like the other fellows. Well, hardly ever, for we 
must confess that at rare intervals his besetting sin 
overcame his prudence, and he proved himself an 
erring, human boy. Steam-engines had been his 
idols for years, and they alone could lure him from 
the path of virtue. Once, in trying to investigate 
the mechanism of a toy specimen, which had its 
little boiler and ran about whistling and puffing in 
the most delightful way, he nearly set the house 
afire by the sparks that dropped on the straw 
carpet. Another time, in trying experiments with 
the kitchen tea-kettle, he blew himself up, and 
the scars of that explosion he still carried on his 

He was long past such childish amusements now, 
but his favorite haunt was the engine-house of the 
new railroad, where he observed the habits of his 
pets with never-failing interest, and cultivated the 
good-will of stokers and brakemen till they allowed 
him many liberties, and were rather flattered by 
the admiration expressed for their iron horses by a 
young gentleman who liked them better even than 
his Greek and Latin. 

There was not much business doing on this road 
as yet, and the two cars of the passenger-trains 
were often nearly empty, though full freight-trains 
rolled from the factory to the main road, of which 
this was only a branch. So things went on in a 
leisurely manner, which gave Frank many oppor- 
tunities of pursuing his favorite pastime. He soon 
knew all about No. n, his pet engine, and had 
several rides on it with Bill, the engineer, so that 
he felt at home there, and privately resolved that 
when he was a rich man he would have a road of 
his own, and run trains as often as he liked. 

Gus took less interest than his friend in the study 
of steam, but usually accompanied him when he 
went over after school to disport himself in the 
engine-house, interview the stoker, or see if there 
was anything new in the way of brakes. 

One afternoon they found No. 1 1 on the side- 

track, puffing away as if enjoying a quiet smoke 
before starting. No cars were attached, and no 
driver was to be seen, for Bill was off with the 
other men behind the station-house, helping the 
expressman, whose horse had backed down a bank 
and upset the wagon. 

" Good chance for a look at the old lady," said 
Frank, speaking of the engine as Bill did, and 
jumping aboard with great satisfaction, followed 
by Gus. 

" I 'd give ten dollars if I could run her up to 
the bend and back," he added, fondly touching 
the bright brass knobs and glancing at the fire 
with a critical eye. 

" You could n't do it alone," answered Gus, sit- 
ting down on the grimy little perch, willing to 
indulge his mate's amiable weakness. 

"Give me leave to try? Steam is up, and I 
could do it as easy as not," and Frank put his hand 
on the throttle-valve, as if daring Gus to give the 

"Fire up and make her hum ! " laughed Gus, 
quoting Bill's frequent order to his mate, but with 
no idea of being obeyed. 

"All right; I '11 just roll her up to the switch 
and back again. I 've often done it with Bill," 
and Frank cautiously opened the throttle-valve, 
threw back the lever, and the great thing moved 
with a throb and a puff. 

"Steady, old fellow, or you '11 come to grief. 
Here, don't open that ! " shouted Gus, for just at 
that moment Joe appeared at the switch, looking 
ready for mischief. 

"Wish he would; no train for twenty minutes, 
and we could run up to the bend as well as not," 
said Frank, getting excited with the sense of power, 
as the monster obeyed his hand so entirely that it 
was impossible to resist prolonging the delight. 

"By George, he has! Stop her! Back her! 
Hold on, Frank ! " cried Gus, as Joe, only catching 
the words " Open that ! " obeyed, without the least 
idea that they would dare to leave the siding. 

But they did, for Frank rather lost his head for 
a minute, and out upon the main track rolled No. 
II as quietly as a well-trained horse taking a famil- 
iar road. ^ 

" Now you 've done it ! I '11 give you a good 
thrashing when I get back ! " roared Gus, shaking 
his fist at Joe, who stood staring, half-pleased, half- 
scared, at what he had done. 

* Copyright, 1879, by Louisa M. Alcott. All rights reserved. 



" Are you really going to try it ? " asked Gus, 
as they glided on with increasing speed, and he, 
too, felt the charm of such a novel adventure, though 
the consequences bid fair to be serious. 

" Yes, I am," answered Frank, with the grim 
look he always wore when his strong will got the 
upper hand. " Bill will give it to us, any way, so 
we may as well have our fun out. If you are 
afraid, I '11 slow down and you can jump off," and 
his brown eyes sparkled with the double delight of 
getting his heart's desire and astonishing his friend 
at the same time by his skill and coolness. 

" Let them yell. I started to go to the curve, 
and I '11 do it if it costs me a hundred dollars. No 
danger; there 's no train under twenty minutes, I 
tell you," and Frank pulled out his watch. But 
the sun was in his eyes, and he did not see clearly, 
or he would have discovered that it was later than 
he thought. 

On they went, and were just rounding the bend 
when a shrill whistle in front startled both boys, 
and drove the color out of their cheeks. 

" It 's the factory train ! " cried Gus, in a husky 
tone, as he sprang to his feet. 


" Go ahead. I '11 jump when you do ; " and Gus 
calmly sat down again, bound in honor to stand by 
his mate till the smash came, though rather dis- 
mayed at the audacity of the prank. 

" Don't you call this just splendid?" exclaimed 
Frank, as they rolled along over the crossing, past 
the bridge, toward the curve, a mile from the sta- 

" Not bad. They are yelling like mad after us. 
Better go back, if you can," said Gus, who was 
anxiously peering out, and, in spite of his efforts 
to seem at ease, not enjoying the trip a particle. 
Vol. VII.— 36. 

"No; it 's the five-forty on the other road," 
answered Frank, with a queer thrill all through 
him at the thought of what might happen if it was 
not. Both looked straight ahead as the last tree 
glided by, and the long track lay before them, with 
the freight train slowly coming down. For an in- 
stant, the boys stood as if paralyzed. 

" Jump !" said Gus, looking at the steep bank 
on one side and the river on the other, undecided 
which to try. 

" Sit still ! " commanded Frank, collecting his 
wits, as he gave a warning whistle to retard the 




on-coming train, while he reversed the engine and 
went back faster than he came. 

A crowd of angry men was waiting for fhem, 
and Bill stood at the open switch in a towering 
passion as No. n returned to her place unharmed, 
but bearing two pale and frightened boys, who 
stepped slowly and silently down, without a word 
to say for themselves, while the freight train rum- 
bled by on the main track. 

Frank and Gus never had a very clear idea as to 
what occurred during the next few minutes, but 
vaguely remembered being well shaken, sworn at, 
questioned, threatened with direful penalties, and 
finally ordered off the premises forever by the 
wrathful depot-master. Joe was nowhere to be 
seen, and as the two culprits walked away, trying 
to go steadily, while their heads spun round, and 
all the strength seemed to have departed from their 
legs, Frank said, in an exhausted tone : 

" Come down to the boat-house and rest a 

Both were glad to get out of sight, and dropped 
upon the steps red, rumpled, and breathless, after 
the late exciting scene. Gus generously forebore 
to speak, though he felt that he was the least to 
blame ; and Frank, after eating a bit of snow to 
moisten his dry lips, said, handsomely : 

" Now, don't you worry, old man. I '11 pay the 
damages, for it was my fault. Joe will dodge, but 
I wont; so make your mind easy." 

" We sha' n't hear the last of this in a hurry," 
responded Gus, relieved, yet anxious, as he thought 
of the reprimand his father would give him. 

" I hope mother wont hear of it till I tell her 
quietly myself. She will be so frightened, and 
think I 'm surely smashed up, if she is told in a 
hurry; " and Frank gave a shiver, as all the danger 
he had run came over him suddenly. 

" I thought we were done for when we saw that 
train. Guess we should have been if you had not 
had your wits about you. I always said you were 
a cool one," and Gus patted Frank's back with a 
look of great admiration, for, now that it was all 
over, he considered it a very remarkable perform- 

" Which do you suppose it will be, fine or 
imprisonment?" asked Frank, after sitting in a 
despondent attitude for a moment. 

" Should n't wonder if it was both. Running 
off with an engine is no joke, you know." 

" What did possess me to be such a fool ? " 
groaned Frank, repenting, all too late, of yielding 
to the temptation which assailed him. 

" Bear up, old fellow, I '11 stand by you ; and if 
the worst comes, I '11 call as often as the rules of 
the prison allow," said Gus, consolingly, as he gave 
his afflicted friend an arm, and they walked away, 

both feeling that they were marked men from that 
day forth. 

Meantime, Joe, as soon as he recovered from the 
shock of seeing the boys actually go off, ran away, 
as fast as his legs could carry him, to prepare Mrs. 
Minot for the loss of her son ; for the idea of their 
coming safely back never occurred to him, his 
knowledge of engines being limited. A loud ring 
at the bell brought Mrs. Pecq, who was guarding 
the house, while Mrs. Minot entertained a parlor 
full of company. 

" Frank 's run off with No. 1 1, and he 'II be killed 
sure. Thought I 'd run up and tell you," stam- 
mered Joe, all out of breath and looking wild. 

He got no further, for Mrs. Pecq clapped one 
hand over his mouth, caught him by the collar 
with the other, and hustled him into the ante-room 
before any one else could hear the bad news. 

" Tell me all about it, and don't shout. What 's 
come to the boy ? " she demanded, in a tone that 
reduced Joe to a whisper at once. 

" Go right back and see what has happened to 
him, then come and tell me quietly. I '11 wait for 
you here. I would n't have his mother startled for 
the world," said the good soul when she knew all. 

" Oh, I dar's n't ! I opened the switch as they 
told me to, and Bill will half kill me when he 
knows it !" cried Joe, in a panic, as the awful con- 
sequences of his deed rose before him, showing 
both boys mortally injured and several trains 

" Then take yourself off home and hold your 
tongue. I '11 watch the door, for I wont have any 
more ridiculous boys tearing in to disturb my 

Mrs. Pecq often called this good neighbor " my 
lady " when speaking of her, for Mrs. Minot was a 
true gentlewoman, and much pleasanter to live with 
than the titled mistress had been. 

Joe scudded away as if the constable was after 
him, and presently Frank was seen slowly approach- 
ing with an unusually sober face and a pair of very 
dirty hands. 

" Thank heaven, he 's safe ! " and, softly open- 
ing the door, Mrs. Pecq actually hustled the young 
master into the ante-room as unceremoniously as 
she had hustled Joe. 

" I beg pardon, but the parlor is full of com- 
pany, and that fool of a Joe came roaring in with 
a cock-and-bull story that gave me quite a turn. 
What is it, Mr. Frank ? " she asked eagerly, seeing 
that something was amiss. 

He told her in a few words, and she was much 
relieved to find that no harm had been done. 

"Ah, the danger is to come," said Frank, 
darkly, as he went away to wash his hands and 
prepare to relate his misdeeds. 




It was a very bad quarter of an hour for the poor 
fellow, who so seldom had any grave faults to con- 
fess ; but he did it manfully, and his mother was 
so grateful for the safety of her boy that she found 
it difficult to be severe enough, and contented her- 
self with forbidding any more visits to the too 
charming No. 1 1. 

"What do you suppose will be done tome?" 
asked Frank, on whom the idea of imprisonment 
had made a deep impression. 

" I don't know, dear, but I shall go over to see 
Mr. Burton right after tea. He will tell us what 
to do and what to expect. Gus must not suffer for 
your fault." 

" He '11 come off clear enough, but Joe must 
take his share, for if he had n't opened that con- 
founded switch, no harm would have been done. 
But when I saw the way clear, I actually could n't 
resist going ahead," said Frank, getting excited 
again at the memory of that blissful moment when 
he started the engine. 

Here Jack came hurrying in, having heard the 
news, and refused to believe it from any lips but 
Frank's. When he could no longer doubt, he was 
so much impressed with the daring of the deed 
that he had nothing but admiration for his brother, 
till a sudden thought made him clap his hands and 
exclaim exultingly : 

" His runaway beats mine all hollow, and now 
he can't crow over me ! Wont that be a comfort ? 
The good boy has got into a scrape. Hooray ! " 

This was such a droll way of taking it, that they 
had to laugh ; and Frank took his humiliation so 
meekly that Jack soon fell to comforting him, 
instead of crowing over him. 

Jill thought it a most interesting event ; and, 
when Frank and his mother went over to consult 
Mr. Burton, she and Jack planned out for the dear 
culprit a dramatic trial which would have con- 
vulsed the soberest of judges. His sentence was 
ten years' imprisonment, and such heavy fines that 
the family would have been reduced to beggary but 
for the sums made by Jill's fancy work and Jack's 
success as a champion pedestrian. 

They found such comfort and amusement in this 
sensational programme that they were rather dis- 
appointed when Frank returned, reporting that a 
fine would probably be all the penalty exacted, as 
no harm had been done, and he and Gus were 
such respectable boys. What would happen to 
Joe, he could not tell, but he thought a good whip- 
ping ought to be added to his share. 

Of course, the affair made a stir in the little 
world of children ; and when Frank went to school, 
feeling that his character for good behavior was 
forever damaged, he found himself a lion, and was 
in danger of being spoiled by the admiration of 

his comrades, who pointed him out with pride as 
" the fellow who ran off with a steam-engine." 

But an interview with Judge Kemble, a fine of 
twenty-five dollars, and lectures from all the grown 
people of his acquaintance, prevented him from 
regarding his escapade as a feat to boast of. He 
discovered, also, how fickle a thing is public favor, 
for very soon those who had praised began to tease, 
and it took all his courage, patience and pride to 
carry him through the next week or two. The 
lads were never tired of alluding to No. u, giving 
shrill whistles in his ear, asking if his watch was 
right, and drawing locomotives on the blackboard 
whenever they got a chance. 

The girls, too, had sly nods and smiles, hints 
and jokes of a milder sort, which made him color 
and fume, and once lose his dignity entirely. Molly 
Loo, who dearly loved to torment the big boys, 
and dared attack even solemn Frank, left one of 
Boo's old tin trains on the door-step, directed to 
''Conductor Minot," who, I regret to say, could 
not refrain from kicking it into the street, and 
slamming the door with a bang that shook the 
house. Shrieks of laughter from wicked Molly 
and her coadjutor, Grif, greeted this explosion of 
wrath, which did no good, however, for half an 
hour later the same cars, all in a heap, were on the 
steps again, with two headless dolls tumbling out 
of the cab, and the dilapidated engine labeled 
"No. II after the collision." 

No one ever saw that ruin again, and for days 
Frank was utterly unconscious of Molly's existence, 
as propriety forbade his having it out with her as 
he had with Grif. Then Annette made peace 
between them, and the approach of the Twenty- 
second gave the wags something else to think of. 

But it was long before Frank forgot that costly 
prank : for he was a thoughtful boy, who honestly 
wanted to be good ; so he remembered this epi- 
sode humbly, and whenever he felt the approach 
of temptation he made the strong will master it, 
saying to himself "Down brakes!" thus saving 
the precious freight he carried from many of the 
accidents which befall us when we try to run our 
trains without orders, and so often wreck ourselves 
as well as others. 

Chapter XII. 


Of course, the young ladies and gentlemen had 
a ball on the evening of that day, but the boys and 
girls were full of excitement about their " Scenes 
from the Life of Washington and other brilliant 
tableaux," as the programme announced. The 
Bird-Room was the theater, being very large, with 
four doors conveniently placed. Ralph was in his 




element, putting up a little stage, drilling boys, 
arranging groups, and uniting in himself carpen- 
ter, scene-painter, manager and gas man. Mrs. 
Minot permitted the house to be turned topsy- 
turvy, and Mrs. Pecq flew about, lending a hand 
everywhere. Jill was costumer, with help from 
Miss Delano, who did not care for balls, and kindly 
took charge of the girls. Jack printed tickets, 
programmes and placards of the most imposing 
sort, and the work went gayly on till all was 

When the evening came, the Bird-Room pre- 
sented a fine appearance. One end was curtained 
off with red drapery : and real footlights, with tin 
shades, gave a truly theatrical air to the little stage. 
Rows of chairs, filled with mammas and little 
people, occupied the rest of the space. The hall 
and Frank's room were full of amused papas, 
uncles, and old gentlemen whose patriotism brought 
them out in spite of rheumatism. There was a 
great rustling of skirts, fluttering of fans, and much 
lively chat, till a bell rang and the orchestra struck 

Yes, there really was an orchestra, for Ed de- 
clared that the national airs must be played, or the 
whole thing would be a failure. So he had exerted 
himself to collect all the musical talent he could 
find, a horn, a fiddle and a flute, with drum and 
fife for the martial scenes. Ed looked more beam- 
ing than ever, as he waved his baton and led 
off with Yankee Doodle as a safe beginning, for 
every one knew that. It was fun to see little 
Johnny Cooper bang away on a big drum, and old 
Mr. Munson, who had been a fifer all his days, 
blow till he was as red as a lobster, while every one 
kept time to the music which put them all in good 
spirits for the opening scene. 

Up went the curtain and several trees in tubs 
appeared, then a stately gentleman in small 
clothes, cocked hat, gray wig, and an imposing 
cane, came slowly walking in. It was Gus, who 
had been unanimously chosen not only for Wash- 
ington but for the father of the hero also, that the 
family traits of long legs and a somewhat massive 
nose might be preserved. 

" Ahem ! My trees are doing finely," observed 
Mr. W., senior, strolling along with his hands be- 
hind him, casting satisfied glances at the dwarf 
orange, oleander, arbutilon and little pine that 
represented his orchard. 

Suddenly he starts, pauses, frowns, and, after 
examining the latter shrub, which displayed several 
hacks in its stem and a broken limb with six red- 
velvet cherries hanging on it, he gave a thump 
with his cane that made the little ones jump, and 
cried out : 

" Can it have been my son ? " 

He evidently thought it was, for he called, in 
tones of thunder: 

"George! George Washington, come hither 
this moment !" 

Great suspense on the part of the audience, then 
a general burst of laughter as Boo trotted in, a 
perfect miniature of his honored parent, knee 
breeches, cocked hat, shoe buckles and all. He 
was so fat that the little tails of his coat stuck out 
in the drollest way, his chubby legs could hardly 
carry the big buckles, and the rosy face displayed 
when he took his hat off, with a dutiful bow, was 
so solemn, the real George could not have looked 
more anxious when he gave the immortal answer. 

" Sirrah, did you cut that tree?" demanded the 
papa, with another rap of the cane, and such a 
frown that poor Boo looked dismayed, till Molly 
whispered, " Put your hand up, dear." Then he 
remembered his part, and, putting one finger in 
his mouth, looked down at his square-toed shoes, 
the image of a shame-stricken boy. 

" My son, do not deceive me. If you have done 
this deed I shall chastise you, for it is my duty not 
to spare the rod, lest I spoil the child. But if you 
lie about it you disgrace the name of Washington 

This appeal seemed to convulse George with 
inward agony, for he squirmed most effectively as 
he drew from his pocket a toy hatchet, which would 
not have cut a straw, then looking straight up into 
the awe-inspiring countenance of his parent, he 
bravely lisped : 

" Papa, I tannot tell a lie. I did tut it with my 
little hanchet." 

" Noble boy, — come to my arms ! I had rather 
you spoilt all my cherry trees than tell one lie ! " 
cried the delighted gentleman, catching his son 
in an embrace so close that the fat legs kicked 
convulsively, and the little coat-tails waved in the 
breeze, while cane and hatchet fell with a dramatic 

The curtain descended on this affecting tableau ; 
but the audience called out both Washingtons, and 
they came, hand in hand, bowing with the cocked 
hats pressed to their breasts, the elder smiling 
blandly, while the younger, still flushed by his 
exertions, nodded to his friends, asking, with en- 
gaging frankness, " Was n't it nice ? " 

The next was a marine piece, for a boat was 
seen, surrounded by tumultuous waves of blue 
cambric, and rowed by a party of stalwart men in 
regimentals, who with difficulty kept their seats, 
for the boat was only a painted board, and they 
sat on boxes or stools behind it. But few marked 
the rowers, for in their midst, tall, straight and 
steadfast as a mast, stood one figure in a cloak, 
with folded arms, high boots, and, under the 




turncd-,ujJ hat, a noble countenance, stern with 
indomitable courage. A sword glittered at his 
side, and a banner waved over him, but his eye 
was fixed on the distant shore, and he was evidently 
unconscious of the roaring billows, the blocks of 
ice, the discouragement of his men, or the danger 
and death that might await him. Napoleon cross- 
ing the Alps was not half so sublime, and with one 
voice the audience cried, "Washington crossing 
the Delaware ! " while the band burst forth with 
'" See the conquering hero comes ! " all out of tune, 
but bound to play it or die in the attempt. 

It would have been very successful if, all of a 
sudden, one of the rowers had not "caught a 
crab " with disastrous consequences. The oars 
were not moving, but a veteran, who looked very 
much like Joe, dropped the one he held, and in 
trying to turn and pummel the black-eyed warrior 
behind him, he tumbled off his seat, upsetting two 
other men, and pulling the painted boat upon 
them as they lay kicking in the cambric deep. 
Shouts of laughter greeted this mishap, but George 
Washington never stirred. Grasping the banner, 
he stood firm when all else went down in the gen- 
eral wreck, and the icy waves engulfed his gallant 
crew, leaving him erect amid a chaos of wildly 
tossing boots, entangled oars and red-faced victims. 
Such god-like dignity could not fail to impress the 
frivolous crowd of laughers, and the curtain fell 
amid a round of applause for him alone. 

" Quite exciting, was n't it ? Did n't know Gus 
had so much presence of mind," said Mr. Burton, 
well pleased with his boy. 

" If we did not know that Washington died in 
his bed, December 14, 1799, I should fear that 
we 'd seen the last of him in that shipwreck," 
laughed an old gentleman, proud of his memory 
for dates. 

Much confusion reigned behind the scenes ; 
Ralph was heard scolding, and Joe set every one 
off again by explaining, audibly, that Grif tickled 
him, and he could n't stand it. A pretty, old- 
fashioned picture of the "Daughters of Liberty" 
followed, for the girls were determined to do honor 
to the brave and patient women who so nobly 
bore their part in the struggle, yet are usually for- 
gotten when those days are celebrated. The dam- 
sels were charming in the big caps, flowered gowns 
and high-heeled shoes of their great-grandmothers, 
as they sat about a spider-legged table talking over 
the tax, and pledging themselves to drink no more 
tea till it was taken off. Molly was on her feet 
proposing " Liberty forever, and down with all 
tyrants," to judge from her flashing eyes as she 
held her egg-shell cup aloft, while the others lifted 
theirs to drink the toast, and Merry, as hostess, sat 
with her hand on . an antique teapot, labeled 

" Sage," ready to fill again when the patriotic 
ladies were ready for a second "dish." 

This was much applauded, and the curtain went 
up again, for the proud parents enjoyed seeing 
their pretty girls in the faded finery of a hundred 
years ago. The band played " Auld Lang Syne," 
as a gentle hint that our fore-mothers should be 
remembered as well as the fore-fathers. 

It was evident that something very martial was 
to follow, for a great tramping, clashing and flying 
about took place behind the scenes while the tea- 
party was going on. After some delay, "The 
Surrender of Cornwallis " was presented in the 
most superb manner, as you can believe when I tell 
you that the stage was actually lined with a glitter- 
ing array of Washington and his generals, Lafay- 
ette, Kosciusko, Rochambeau and the rest, all in 
astonishing uniforms, with swords which were 
evidently the pride of their lives. Fife and drum 
struck up a march, and in came Cornwallis, much 
cast down but full of manly resignation, as he 
surrendered his sword, and stood aside with averted 
eyes while his army marched past, piling their 
arms at the hero's feet. 

This scene was the delight of the boys, for the 
rifles of Company F had been secured, and at least 
a dozen soldiers kept filing in and out in British 
uniform till Washington's august legs were hidden 
by the heaps of arms rattled down before him. 
The martial music, the steady tramp, and the 
patriotic memories awakened, caused this scene to 
be enthusiastically encored, and the boys would 
have gone on marching till midnight if Ralph had 
not peremptorily ordered down the curtain and 
cleared the stage for the next tableau. 

This had been artfully slipped in between two 
brilliant ones, to show that the Father of his Country 
had to pay a high price for his glory. The dark- 
ened stage represented what seemed to be a camp 
in a snow-storm, and a very forlorn camp, too ; for 
on " the cold, cold ground " (a reckless display of 
cotton batting) lay ragged soldiers, sleeping with- 
out blankets, their worn-out boots turned up pa- 
thetically, and no sign of food or fire to be seen. 
A very shabby sentinel, with feet bound in bloody 
cloths, and his face as pale as chalk could make it, 
gnawed a dry crust as he kept his watch in the 
wintry night. 

A tent at the back of the stage showed a solitary 
figure sitting on a log of wood, poring over the 
map spread upon his knee, by the light of one 
candle stuck in a bottle. There could be no doubt 
who this was, for the buff-and-blue coat, the legs, 
the nose, the attitude, all betrayed the great 
George laboring to save his country, in spite of 
privations, discouragements and dangers which 
would have daunted any other man. 




" Valley Forge," said some one, and the room 
was very still as old and young looked silently at 
this little picture of a great and noble struggle in 
one of its dark hours. The crust, the wounded 
feet, the rags, the snow, the loneliness, the indom- 
itable courage and endurance of these men touched 
the hearts of all, for the mimic scene grew real for 
a moment ; and, when a child's voice broke the 
silence, asking pitifully, "Oh, mamma, was it truly 
as dreadful as that?" a general outburst answered, 
as if every one wanted to cheer up the brave fel- 
lows and bid them fight on, for victory was surely 

In the next scene it did come, and " Washington 
at Trenton " was prettily done. An arch of flowers 
crossed the stage, with the motto, "The Defender 
of the Mothers will be the Preserver of the Daugh- 
ters ; " and, as the hero with his generals advanced 
on one side, a troop of girls, in old-fashioned mus- 
lin frocks, came to scatter flowers before him, sing- 
ing the song of long ago : 

" Welcome, mighty chief, once more 
Welcome to this grateful shore ; 
Now no mercenary foe 
Aims again the fatal blow, — 
Aims at thee the fatal blow. 

" Virgins fair and matrons grave, 
Those thy conquering arm did save, 
Build for thee triumphal bowers ; 
Strew, ye fair, his way with flowers, — 
Strew your hero's way with flowers." 

And they did, singing with all their hearts as 
they flung artificial roses and lilies at the feet of 
the great men, who bowed with benign grace. 
Jack, who did Lafayette with a limp, covered him- 
self with glory by picking up one of the bouquets 
and pressing it to his heart with all the gallantry 
of a Frenchman ; and when Washington lifted the 
smallest of the maids and kissed her, the audience 
cheered. Could n't help it, you know, it was so 
pretty and inspiring. 

The Washington Family, after the famous pict- 
ure, came next, with Annette as the serene and 
sensible Martha, in a very becoming cap. The 
General was in uniform, there being no time to 
change, but his attitude was quite correct, and the 
Custis boy and girl displayed the wide sash and 
ruffled collar with historic fidelity. The band 
played " Home," and every one agreed that it was 
" Sweet!" 

"Now I don't see what more they can have 
except the death-bed, and that would be rather out 
of place in this gay company," said the old gentle- 
man to Mr. Burton, as he mopped his heated face 
after pounding so heartily he nearly knocked the 
ferule off his cane. 

" No ; they gave that up, for my boy would n't 

wear a night-gown in public. I can't tell secrets, 
but I think they have got a very clever little finale 
for the first part, — a pretty compliment to one per- 
son and a pleasant surprise to all," answered Mr. 
Burton, who was in great spirits, being fond of 
theatricals and very justly proud of his children, 
for the little girls had been among the Trenton 
maids, and the mimic General had kissed his own 
small sister, Nelly, very tenderly. 

A great deal of interest was felt as to what this 
surprise was to be, and a general " Oh ! " greeted 
the "Minute Man," standing motionless upon his 
pedestal. It was Frank, and Ralph had done his 
best to have the figure as perfect as possible, for 
the maker of the original had been a good friend 
to him ; and, while the young sculptor was dancing 
gayly at the ball, this copy of his work was doing 
him honor among the children. Frank looked it 
very well, for his firm-set mouth was full of resolu- 
tion, his eyes shone keen and courageous under 
the three-cornered hat, and the muscles stood out 
upon the bare arm that clutched the old gun. 
Even the buttons on the gaiters seemed to flash 
defiance, as the sturdy legs took the first step from 
the furrow toward the bridge where the young 
farmer became a hero when he " fired the shot 
heard 'round the world." 

" That is splendid ! " " As like to the original as 
flesh can be to bronze." " How still he stands ! " 
" He '11 fight when the time comes, and die hard, 
won't he?" "Hush! You make the statue blush ! " 
These very audible remarks certainly did, for the 
color rose visibly as the modest lad heard himself 
praised, though he saw but one face in all the 
crowd, his mother's, far back, but full of love and 
pride, as she looked up at her young minute man 
waiting for the battle which often calls us when 
we least expect it, and for which she had done her 
best to make him ready. 

If there had been any danger of Frank being 
puffed up by the success of his statue, it was coun- 
teracted by irrepressible Grif, who, just at the 
most interesting moment, when all were gazing 
silently, gave a whistle, followed by a " Choo, 
choo, choo!" and "All aboard!" so naturally 
that no one could mistake the joke, especially as 
another laughing voice added, " Now, then, No. 
1 1 ! " which brought down the house and the cur- 
tain too. 

Frank was so angry, it was very difficult to keep 
him on his perch for the last scene of all. He 
submitted, however, rather than spoil the grand 
finale, hoping that its beauty would efface that ill- 
timed pleasantry from the public mind. So, when 
the agreeable clamor of hands and voices called 
for a repetition, the Minute Man reappeared, grim- 
mer than before. But not alone, for grouped all 




about his pedestal were Washington and his gen- 
erals, the matrons and maids, with a background 
of troops shouldering arms, Grif and Joe doing 
such rash things with their muskets, that more 
than one hero received a poke in his august back. 
Before the full richness of this picture had been 
taken in, Ed gave a rap, and all burst out with 
" Hail Columbia," in such an inspiring style that 
it was impossible for the audience to refrain from 
joining, which they did, all standing and all sing- 
ing with a heartiness that made the walls ring. 
The fife shrilled, the horn blew sweet and clear, 
the fiddle was nearly drowned by the energetic 
boom of the drum, and out into the starry night, 
through open windows, rolled the song that stirs 
the coldest heart with patriotic warmth and tunes 
every voice to music. 

"'America!' We must have ' America ! ' Pipe 
up, Ed, this is too good to end without one song 
more," cried Mr. Burton, who had been singing 
like a trumpet; and, hardly waiting to get their 
breath, off they all went again with the national 
hymn, singing as they never had sung it before, 
for somehow the little scenes they had just acted 
or beheld seemed to show how much this dear 
America of ours had cost in more than one revo- 
lution, how full of courage, energy and virtue it 
was in spite of all its faults, and what a privilege, 
as well as duty, it was for each to do his part toward 
its safety and its honor in the present, as did those 
brave men and women in the past. 

So the " Scenes from the Life of Washington " 
were a great success, and, when the songs were 
over, people were glad of a brief recess while they 
had raptures, and refreshed themselves with 

The girls had kept the secret of who the 
" Princess" was to be, and, when the curtain rose, 
a hum of surprise and pleasure greeted the pretty 
group. Jill lay asleep in all her splendor, the 
bonny ■'' Prince " just lifting the veil to wake her 
with a kiss, and all about them the court in its nap 
of a hundred years. The "King" and "Queen" 
dozing comfortably on the throne ; the maids of 
honor, like a garland of nodding flowers, about the 
couch ; the little page, unconscious of the blow 
about to fall, and the fool dreaming, with his 
mouth wide open. 

It was so pretty, people did not tire of looking, 
till Jack's lame leg began to tremble, and he whis- 
pered : " Drop her or I shall pitch." Down went 
the curtain ; but it rose in a moment, and there 
was the court after the awakening: the "King" 
and "Queen" looking about them with sleepy 
dignity, the maids in various attitudes of surprise, 
the fool grinning from ear to ear, and the "Prin- 
cess " holding out her hand to the "Prince," as if 

glad to welcome the right lover when he came at 

Molly got the laugh this time, for she could not 
resist giving poor Boo the cuff which had been 
hanging over him so long. She gave it with 
unconscious energy, and Boo cried "Ow!" so nat- 
urally that all' the children were delighted and 
wanted it repeated. But Boo declined, and the 
scenes which followed were found quite as much to 
their taste, having been expressly prepared for the 
little people. 

Mother Goose's Reception was really very funny, 
for Ralph was the old lady, and had hired a repre- 
sentation of the immortal bird from a real theater 
for this occasion. There they stood, the dame in 
her pointed hat, red petticoat, cap and cane, with 
the noble fowl, a good deal larger than life, beside 
her, and Grif inside, enjoying himself immensely 
as he flapped the wings, moved the yellow legs, 
and waved the long neck about, while unearthly 
quacks issued from the bill. That was a great sur- 
prise for the children, and they got up in their 
seats to gaze their fill, many of them firmly believ- 
ing that they actually beheld the blessed old woman 
who wrote the nursery songs they loved so well. 

Then in came, one after another, the best of the 
characters she has made famous, while a voice be- 
hind the scenes sang the proper rhyme as each 
made their manners to the interesting pair. " Mis- 
tress Mary," and her " pretty maids all in a row," 
passed by to their places in the background ; 
"King Cole" and his "fiddlers three" made a 
goodly show ; so did the royal couple, who followed 
the great pie borne before them, with the " four- 
and-twenty black-birds " popping their heads out 
in the most delightful way. Little " Bo-Peep" led 
a woolly lamb and wept over its lost tail, for not a 
sign of one appeared on the poor thing. " Simple 
Simon" followed the pie-man, gloating over his 
wares with the drollest antics. The little wife came 
trundling by in a wheelbarrow and was not upset ; 
neither was the lady with " rings on her fingers 
and bells on her toes," as she cantered along on a 
rocking-horse. " Bobby Shafto's " yellow hair 
shone finely as he led in the maid whom he came 
back from sea to marry. " Miss Muffet," bowl in 
hand, ran away from an immense black spider, which 
waggled its long legs in a way so life-like that 
some of the children shook in their little shoes. 
The beggars who came to town were out in full 
force, "rags, tags, and velvet gowns," quite true 
to life. "Boy Blue" rubbed his eyes, with hay 
sticking in his hair, and tooted on a tin horn as if 
bound to get the cows out of the corn. Molly, 
with a long-handled frying-pan, made a capital 
" Queen," in a tucked-up gown, checked apron 
and high crown, to good "King Arthur," who, 




very properly, did not appear after stealing the 
barley-meal, which might be seen in the pan tied 
up in a pudding, like a cannon-ball, ready to fry. 

But Tobias, Molly's black cat, covered himself 
with glory by the spirit with which he acted his 
part in 

" Sing, sing, what shall I sing? 
The cat 's run away with the pudding-bag string." 

First he was led across the stage on his hind legs, 
looking very fierce and indignant, with a long tape 
trailing behind him; and, being set free at the 
proper moment, he gave one bound over the four- 

fat "King Cole" with the most ragged of the 
beggar-maids. " Mistress Mary," in her pretty 
blue dress, tripped along with "Simple Simon" 
staring about him like a blockhead. The fine 
lady left her horse to dance with " Bobby Shafto" 
till every bell on her slippers tinkled its tongue 
out. " Bo-Peep " and a jolly fiddler skipped gay- 
ly up and down. "Miss Muffet " took the big 
spider for her partner, and made his many legs fly 
about in the wildest way. The little wife got out 
of the wheelbarrow to help " Boy Blue" along, and 
Molly, with the frying-pan over her shoulder, led 
off splendidly when it was " Grand right and left." 

and-twenty black-birds who happened to be in the 
way, and dashed off as if an enraged cook had 
actually been after him, straight down-stairs to the 
coal-bin, where he sat, glaring in the dark, till the 
fun was over. 

When all the characters had filed in and stood in 
two long rows, music struck up and they danced, 
" All the way to Boston," a simple but lively affair, 
which gave each a chance to show his or her cos- 
tume as they pranced down the middle and up 

Such a funny medley as it was, for there went 

But the old lady and her goose were the best of 
all, for the dame's shoe-buckles cut the most aston- 
ishing pigeon-wings, and to see that mammoth 
bird waddle down the middle with its wings half 
open, its long neck bridling, and its yellow legs in 
the first position as it curtsied to its partner, was a 
sight to remember, it was so intensely funny. 

The merry old gentleman laughed till he cried ; 
Mr. Burton split his gloves, he applauded so en- 
thusiastically ; while the children beat the dust out 
of the carpet hopping up and down, as they cried : 
" Do it again ! " " We want it all over ! " when the 




curtain went down at last on the flushed and pant- 
ing party, Mother G bowing, with her hat all 

awry, and the goose doing a double shuffle as if it 
did not know how to leave off. 

But they could not " do it all over again," for it 
was growing late, and the people felt that they cer- 
tainly had received their money's worth that even- 

So it all ended merrily, and when the guests 
departed the boys cleared the room like magic, 
and the promised supper to the actors was served 
in handsome style. Jack and Jill were at one end, 
Mrs. Goose and her bird at the other, and all be- 

tween was a comical collection of military heroes, 
fairy characters and nursery celebrities. All felt the 
need of refreshment after their labors, and swept 
over the table like a flight of locusts, leaving devas- 
tation behind. But they had earned their fun ; and 
much innocent jollity prevailed, while a few linger- 
ing papas and mammas watched the revel from 
afar, and had not the heart to order these noble 
beings home till even- the Father of his Country 
declared " that he 'd had a perfectly splendid time, 
but could n't keep his eyes open another minute," 
and very wisely retired to replace the immortal 
cocked hat with a night-cap. 

( To be continued. ) 

By Fannie Roper Feudge. 

The narrow, shaded streets of an Oriental city, 
thronged by crowds of sedate-looking men, with 
long beards and turbaned heads, though seldom 
showing a woman or child to vary the monotony, 
look odd enough to unaccustomed eyes. Still 
more strange seem the huge gates that lead to 
private dwellings ; for the gates are always closed, 
and the houses, with their high, narrow windows, 
appear to have been built backwards, facing inward 
on a court, instead of toward the street. These 
courts are adorned with bright, tropical flowers and 
cool fountains, and they form the usual lounging- 
places of households, where indolent nabobs retire 
from the noise and dust of the outer world to 
enjoy, in the society of the family, the quiet and 
repose in which orientals so especially delight. 
The father is generally too dignified or too listless 
to care for amusements ; but his lively wives and 
children indulge in various exciting pastimes. 
Music and dancing, fencing, leaping and other 
feats of agility, and, above all, juggleries, serve to 
entertain the secluded household ; and actors in 
all these sports can be readily obtained by calling 
in one of the bands of traveling jugglers met at 
every turn in the large cities of the East. For 
there is never a wedding nor a funeral, a feast nor a 
fast, the consecration of a priest nor the crowning 
of a king, where these "magicians," as they call 
themselves, are not found. Even on the public 
thoroughfares, they will sit and wait for an audi- 
ence, droning their peculiar music, or throwing out 
something to attract attention. Scarcely can one 
pass without stopping to notice weird faces and 
fantastic decorations ; and, as one trick follows 

another, each more wonderful than the last, every 
pedestrian becomes a patron, helping to fill the 
pockets of these dexterous knaves. They are be- 
lieved by their countrymen to possess supernatural 
powers, to act under the influence of evil spirits, 
and to be able, by a mere glance of the eye, to 
make well people sick and sick people well without 
so much as touching them. Of course, you know 
that this is not really true of them, and that their 
marvelous performances are only seeming, not 
real, miracles ; but the exhibitions of their art are 
strangely fascinating, nevertheless. Often have I 
sat watching the feats of these jugglers, and trying 
to find out the secret of their strange power, but 
not a single success rewarded my efforts. The 
longer one looks, the more he is bewildered; and, 
though perfectly aware that he is being imposed 
on, eyes, ears, touch and taste, all attest the truth 
of what is absolutely false ! 

On one occasion, quite a famous band of Indian 
jugglers was in attendance at a great national festi- 
val ; and, for their use, beautifully decorated 
booths and tents had been erected, and supplied 
with tanks of water for the numerous ceremonial 
ablutions for which the Hindoos are famous. Be- 
fore eating, before sleeping, before praying, as an 
" open sesame " alike to palace, theater and temple, 
as part and parcel of their religion, their business, 
and their pleasures, come always and everywhere 
the inevitable bath and shaving of the head. And 
these jugglers, one could see at a glance, came 
always to the arena fresh from their ablutions and 
robed in snow-white muslin. On an occasion of 
such general festivity, with its thousands of wor- 




shipers who helped to pay expenses, of course 
everything that could add to the comfort of the 
performers would be provided, — everything but the 
barber, who, in this land of caste, is quite a "pecu- 
liar institution." A Brahmin may be shaved by 
none but a Brahmin ; and a coolie or Sudra barber 
must not, in any circumstances, shave a Vaisya or 
a Kschatryah. 

Let me tell you something of the difference be- 
tween these classes, or castes, as they are called in 
India. The Hindoos believe that the Brahmins 
sprang from the head of the Creator, and so it be- 
came their birthright to be the priests and lawgiv- 
ers of the nation. Kschatryahs, they say, sprang 
from the shoulders, and in right thereof they 
fill the kingly, magisterial and military offices. 
Vaisyas are said to have sprung from the body of 
the god, and hence are the merchants and traders, 
whom the Hindoos regard as superior to mechanics, 
but in no wise fit to mingle with princes or soldiers. 
Sudras, deriving their origin from Brahma's feet, 
can be nothing but artisans and servants to the 
three higher castes. Lower than all and despised 
by all are the Pariahs, who have no caste at all, 
and are held in such detestation, that it would be 

leaving only a small tuft of hair on the crown. In 
the picture you see the manner of performing the 
operation, barber and customer being alike inde- 
pendent of operating chairs, while the razor is a 
clumsy tool of the commonest metal, the blade 
being not more than four inches long. To hide 
their shaved heads turbans are worn by the people 
of Hindostan ; and by the form and color of these 
coverings a practiced eye reads readily the rank 
and caste of the wearers. 

The first trick at the festival I have mentioned 
was known as the "bamboo-trick;" and, though 
repeated several times, the audience did not seem 
to weary of it. Amid the beating of tom-toms 
and the music of many instruments, the jugglers 
smoothed a place on the hard, dry sand of the 
arena. We were invited to examine the ground, 
but we could find nothing like an opening, nor even 
that the soil had been recently dug up, nor did we 
discover any concealed apparatus of any sort. 
Presently, a large basket of coarse wicker-work 
was laid down and carelessly covered with a little 
square of gauze flannel. Both basket and flannel 
were passed around, so that all who chose might 
satisfy themselves that these articles were quite 


death to a Pariah if he should so much as touch 
the garments of a Brahmin, a Kschatryah, a Vaisya, 
or a Sudra. 

So, at all the festivals, and wherever they go, 
every little squad or company takes its own barber, 
as the Hindoos keep their heads shaven closely, 

empty ; while in the single waist-cloth and trans- 
parent muslin jacket, of which the dress of each 
actor was composed, no large article could have 
been concealed. Yet, five minutes later, when the 
basket was lifted, there appeared growing in the 
hard, sandy bed a flourishing bamboo plant, more 

1880. ] 



than a foot in height ! When the basket had been 
raised the second time, the tree was three feet high, 
and in twenty minutes more our wondering eyes 
beheld a live twelve-foot bamboo clothed 
with verdure, while from its top blossoms 
and fruit budded out luxuriantly ! One 
of the conjurors then drew from his mouth 
some twenty yards of strong silk cord, 
which he adroitly knotted, and attached 
to half-a-dozen hooks that had been 
drawn from the same roomy place. By 
the aid of these he gathered the bamboo 
fruit, and then, without once having left 
the arena, he passed it around to be han- 
dled and tasted by all who wished. 

Another of the conjurors took from a 
tiny bag a single handful of paddy, which 
is rice with the husk still on. He first 
lightened the soil of about two square 
feet of the floor with a two-pronged fork, 
and scattered on it the handful of paddy ; 
then pouring on it a cup of water, he said : 

" Now you will please to wait until my 
crop grows, and see whether I am not 
the best farmer you know." 

He turned a basket over his little plan- 
tation, and sang a simple air, so sweet 
and plaintive that we were not surprised 
when a bird seemed to answer his call. 
He lifted the basket, and sure enough, 
there were the rice-plants, grown six 
inches high in as many minutes, and in 
their midst a nest of real live rice-birds, 
a mother and four nestlings! The old bird flut- 
tered and flapped her wings, as if frightened, 
then cooed softly to her little ones, and folded 
over them her downy wings. Meanwhile the 
basket had been lying sideways on the floor 
where the juggler had thrown it a few minutes 
before. Now he picked it up without leaving his 
seat, and carelessly replaced it over the rice-plants 
and birds. Yet the next time this mysterious bas- 
ket was raised, nothing was to be seen but a pair 
of deadly sun-snakes, writhing and twisting them- 
selves as if in a frenzy at having been pinned in 
such close quarters. They darted their forked 
tongues and snapped their fiery eyes at one and 
another of the spectators nearest them, to the no 
small terror of all. But the conjuror had only to 
wave a tiny silver wand, and, in a droning, caressing 
voice, to speak to the serpents, when they sprang 
into his arms, one coiling itself about his neck, the 
other kissing his very lips and the tip of his tongue, 
and then hiding its hideous form in his bosom. 

The wonderful power these conjurors gain over 
dumb animals is well proved by the tricks they 
perform with tortoises, perhaps the most sluggish 

and unpromisingsubjects that could be chosen. A 
juggler produces from the bosom of his muslin 
Vest eight or ten tortoises ; some full grown, the 


others in various stages between babyhood and 
youth. Having placed them all on the floor in a 
heap, he gently strikes his cymbal, when the tor- 
toises begin at once to disentangle themselves, and 
to file into a long line, in the order of their sizes, 
the largest being at the head of the column and 
the baby-tortoise bringing up the rear. Around 
and around the small soldiers march, moving faster 
or slower to keep time with the music, and halting 
the very instant it stops. Then, in obedience to 
half a dozen words of command spoken by the 
master, the whole company put themselves into 
position for getting upon a table some ten inches 
high. And queer enough they look, as each,. with 
his mouth, lays hold of the hinder part of the shell 
of the one before him. When all are ready, the 
leader puts out a paw ; the juggler lays hold of it, 
and helps him to get up on the table, where the 
knowing tortoise sturdily plants himself, until the 
entire column has gained the top. Their spirits 
seeming to rise in proportion to their elevation, 
the tortoises turn to dancing, tumbling, fighting 
mimic battles with tiny wooden swords, and per* 
forming a variety of antics as wonderful as ludicrous. 



They end the series of maneuvers by this very 
queer one ; Putting their outstretched heads close 
together for a moment, as if in consultation, the 
entire band convert themselves into a pyramid in 
the center of the table, the largest tortoises uniting 
to form the base, while the little one at the top 
then dances a regular four-footed jig. As soon as 
the tiny Terpsichorean stops, the tortoises at the 
bottom crawl away in opposite directions, then off 
go the next, and so on, till of this whole living 
structure only the top one remains. The little 
fellow glances around with a bewildered air, and 
then runs to his master for protection. 

Another trick was performed on the occasion 
referred to. A tall, muscular man threw himself 
on his back, with both feet pointing upward; and, 
at a single bound, a ten-year-old lad, clothed in 
long, tight drawers of silver sheen, a conical cap, 
and silvery wings, leaped upon the upturned soles, 
and began to smoke a cheroot. Then entered a 
Coolie, upon whose shoulders, head and arms one 
saw only wooden buckets. These were of the 
lightest construction, and all of different sizes ; and 
the Coolie piled them up by the side of the man and 
boy. The lad, reaching over, seized the top one, 
which was the largest of the pile, and nimbly as 
a cat he placed himself upon it, the top of the 
bucket being turned downward, and resting on the 
man's feet. The second bucket was secured in the 
same way and put upon the first; the third had to 

be handed to him by one of the attendants, as it 
was too far off to be reached by the little fellow, 
but he readily placed it in position upon the sec- 
ond, stepping with all ease upon it; and so he 
went on until he had used the entire heap. There 
were a dozen in all, I should think; and the wee 
knight, seated on this queer pile of buckets, looked, 
at that dizzy height, more like a shining statue of 
ebony and silver than a real live boy. Suddenly the 
man at the bottom gave a dreadful yell and leaped 
out of the arena at a bound, while the buckets fell 
pell-mell in every direction ; but out of this chaos 
rose the graceful little gymnast, not only unhurt, 
but evidently quite amused at the looks of conster- 
ation on every face but his own. Bowing grace- 
fully he disappeared, followed by shouts of applause. 
More wonderful still, a juggler will appear to 
kill his son, cutting off the legs and arms with a 
sword, and throwing a piece of blanket over the 
remains. At the same time he plants a melon-seed 
in a flower-pot filled with earth. Presently, on 
lifting the blanket, the body has vanished, and a 
large melon occupies the place on the ground 
where the flower-pot has been. After the melon 
has been looked at and handled by all who wish, 
the blanket is again thrown over it. On being 
lifted, a few minutes later, the melon is gone, but 
the boy, who had seemed to be killed, and whose 
body had been so terribly cut to pieces, sits there 
alive and well, without a wound. 



By Eleanor Kirk. 

Miss Moriarty 

Was dressed for the party 

In satin, and ribbon, and lace. 
She called in the cat, 
And inquired, " How is that?" 

And the cat laughed out in her face. 

Miss Moriarty, 

All dressed for the party, 

Went out to get into the gig. 

She was white as a sheet, 
For there on the seat 

Sat the widow McGafferty's pig. 


Miss Moriarty, 

Dressed up for the party, 
Inquired of a froggy the way. 

The frog, with a grin, 

Said 't was " time to go in 
For the chickens were raking hay." 

Miss Moriarty, 
Complete for the party 

In fardingale, bodice and frill, 

Then gazed at her clothes, 
Till she fell in a doze, 

And dreamed that she led the quadrille. 

Miss Moriarty, 

Too late for the party, 
With her laces and satin and silk, 

Was ready to cry ; 

But an owl said, "Oh, fie!" 
And an elephant soothed her with milk. 

Miss Moriarty 

So dreamed of the party 
She danced herself all out of breath ; 

And ere it was day, 

The moon heard her say : 
"Why, bless me! I 'm tired to death!" 





(A Sequel in 'Kitty's Mother." From ike pen of Mary Jane.) 

By A. G. Plympton. 


To be sure 'Tildy was an uncommon scholar for 
Tuckertown, but everybody said that she was too 
young to teach school. " A gal o' that age," said 
Deacon Fisher, "can't be expected to hev much 
discipline, and I wonder the cummittee should 
hev elected her." 

It was the second summer after the one in which 
I had been adopted by Kitty's mother, and I had 
become older and wiser since those foolish days. I 
had broken myself of all my bad habits. I never 
interrupted people any more, and never answered 
back. I was reformed. That spring, Lucy had 
come down with the scarlet fever, and Dot and I 
were sent to grandpa's to escape the contagion, and 
that is how I came to go to school to 'Tildy Joy. 

Before I had been in Tuckertown five minutes, 
in came Beth Hall. We had always been bosom- 
friends, but I remembered how she used to mock 
grandpa's limp, and Aunt Jane's cough, and the 
way Deacon Fisher sang through his nose; and I 
wondered if I ought to go with her now that I had 

reformed. While I was making up my mind, she 
bounced up to me, saying : 

" You dear elegant Mary Jane, I 'm so glad 
you 've come," and she kissed me, and I had to 
kiss her, of course, and after that there was no use 
holding back. I thought at first I 'd try and re- 
form her too, but she is so full of fun, and such 
a harum-scarum thing that I concluded that it 
would n't be any use to try. 

The minute Aunt Jane went out of the room, 
Beth told me that 'Tildy Joy was going to teach the 
district school. 

"Just think of our having to mind her," she 
said, scornfully, " and only last year she was noth- 
ing but a scholar herself, and played tag 'long of 
us, recesses." 

" Well," said I, " I sha'n't mind a word she says, 
and you mustn't either, Dot." 

" Land, I pity the schoolma'am that has you 
for a scholar," said Betsy, who had come up to 
unstrap our trunk. She did n't know that I had 




reformed, you see. " You 're a perfect imp and 
always were." 

" I don't care," said I, " I think it 's real mean of 
Aunt Jane to send us to school when we come 
visiting her. 'Tis n't polite, any how." 

I remembered 'Tildy perfectly. She was a real 
green-looking girl, and wore the biggest sunbonnet 
in Tuckertown, and that's saying a great deal. 
The Joys were poor, and they lived in a curious 
old black house, with a roof which sunk right 
in the middle, and folks said it would tumble in 
some time on their heads. Aunt Jane said that she 
had heard that 'Tildy meant to fix the old house 
up, now that she had a salary. 

It seemed queer enough, I can tell you, to see 
'Tildy in the teacher's seat that next morning, when 
Beth and Dot and I went into school. She had 
had her dress made long, and braided her hair 
behind ; and as she sat at the desk, she looked as 
stiff as a stick. I could see she was trying to be 
very dignified, but I remembered how she used to 
tease for my cores, and I was n't going to be re- 

" How d' ye do, 'Tildy ? " says I. " Going bare- 
foot this year ? " 

Everybody giggled except 'Tildy, and she looked 
bouncing mad. 

" Take your place_, Mary Jane," said she. " The 
seat next to Beth Hall." 

Did you ever hear of such a goose ? The idea 
of putting Beth and me together. After I had had 
all the trouble of reforming, too ; for I knew, the 
minute I slipped into my seat, that I never could 
keep that up, with Beth giggling at my side. You 
see she had a bad influence over me. She just set 
me on. She would have made a saint in white 
cut up capers, I do believe. I wonder why it was 
that no one saw how she set me on ; but they 
did n't ; they thought poor innocent me was at the 
bottom of everything ; and her mother even told 
Aunt Jane that Beth thought she must do just as I 
did, 'cause I lived in the city. Now I am sure that 
she started all the mischief. It was she who pro- 
posed putting the toads in 'Tildy's lunch-basket, 
and it was she who wrote that letter. I believe I 
told her what to say, but then that 's nothing. We 
had lots of fun about the letter. You see, we pre- 
tended it was sent by the committee, and we ad- 
dressed it to Miss 'Tildy Joy, and said that her 
salary was going to be raised, and signed it Deacon 
Brown. He is one of the committee, you know. 
We watched her through the keyhole when she 
read it, and I remember how happy she looked all 
the morning, and how we giggled because she was 
so much more amiable than usual. 

It was a real queer school. It was n't one of the 
strict kind, at all. Whenever any one missed, in a 

lesson, they flung a bit of paper at the wall behind 
'Tildy. She had to dodge 'em. It was such fun, 
I often missed on purpose. Tildy said it was n't 
dignified, but nobody cared. There is no kind of a 
trick that we did not play on 'Tildy. At least, I 
never heard of one. I never saw such a school 
before ; but it was n't my fault. 

But the worst thing of all happened one day 
toward the end of the term. We had been expect- 
ing the committee all the morning, and had been 
on our best behavior. I don't know how it came 
about, but they had all got an inkling of how 
things went at school. Perhaps the mothers found 
out and told 'em. I know they did n't want 'Tildy 
to teach next term, and they all seemed to think 
that she had n't any discipline. I don't suppose 
she had. Jane Fairbanks, who lived next house to 
'Tildy, said she had seen Deacon Brown go in there 
once, and thought, from the tone of his voice, that 
he was complaining about something. At any 
rate, she began to look pale and worried. Aunt 
Jane said she hoped I was not troubling 'Tildy with 
my shines. Shines, indeed ! It was all very well 
to feel kindly to her, but what was the use of hurt- 
ing my feelings, I 'd like to know. I was so mad, 
or rather grieved, that I made up a face at her 
every time she turned her back. 

Well, the committee did n't come, and it was 
recess time. 

"I '11 tell you what," said Beth, "let 's climb 
upon the roof, and let 'Tildy hunt for us." (I hope 
you notice that it was Beth and not I who said 
this. ) 

" Let 's," said I, and we all made a rush for the 
shed. We had got up on the roof before, and 
knew that it was easy enough to boost each other 
up from the top of the shed. There we sat, wait- 
ing for the bell to ring. Pretty soon it did ring. I 
heard the door open, and, by holding on to the 
edge of the roof and leaning over, I could just see 
'Tildy's hand with the bell in it. Then she went 
in, and we waited. In a few minutes she rang it 
again, furiously. We were all giggling by this 
time, and if I had n't held on to Dot, she would 
have rolled off the roof. Then it sounded from one 
of the side windows, and then from a back window, 
and then at the door again, and then 'Tildy called 
and called, and finally she stepped out, and, still 
ringing the bell, walked toward the woods. I shall 
never forget her look when she turned round and 
saw us. 

Oh, my ! But was n't she mad ! She stood at 
the foot of the shed and called us to come down, 
in a voice that fairly shook with rage. I don't 
know why, but we insisted that we were not com- 
ing down, that we were going to say our lessons up 
there, and she could bring a chair out and sit down 




and hear 'em. While we were still there, and 
'Tildy stood entreating us, we heard the sound of a 
wagon, and the first we knew that old committee 
had come. As we hopped down, one by one, from 
the roof, they stood talking with 'Tildy and watch- 
ing us. Beth said she thought she caught the 

position, too, and that night I dreamt that the 
old Joy house had tumbled down, and folks said 
that it was my fault. 

There was going to be a huckleberry party that 
next day, and we all begged in vain to stay away 
from school and go. I did n't feel near so bad 


words "too young," and "discipline." I know I 
heard 'Tildy sigh as I passed her to go into the 
school-house, and her eyes were full of tears. We 
tried to do our best in the examination, but it was 
plain that 'Tildy had lost her hope and courage. I 
wondered, as I walked home, if she would lose her 

about 'Tildy as I had in the night. I 
have noticed that I do most of my 
repenting, and make most of my good 
resolutions, in the night; and I think 
it's a real good plan, 'cause it leaves the days all 
clear to do what you please in. 

"I think it 's real mean," said Beth; "my 
mother never wants me to have any fun. Oh, if 
school only would n't keep. If only the school- 
house had blown down, or 'Tildy was sick." 




"Oh, I 
were ! I 




wish she were," said I. " I just wish she 
hope she ate lots of plum-pudding and 


:e-pie the last thing before she went to her 

: bed last night." 

And currants and milk," suggested Dot. 

And lobster," said Beth. 

ist then, Jane Fairfield came running 

xd us. 

No school. 'Tildy 's sick," said she, and 

past us like a flash. 

r e all looked at each other, and Dot began 

"I did n't mean it at all," said I. "I — I 
only just said so." 

Beth actually looked pale. " Our saying 
so did n't make her sick," said she. Then she 
burst out: "Mary Jane, you 've behaved 
awfully the whole term, and I don't think you 
are a good girl for me to go with." 

That was a pretty idea, was n't it? I just 
got mad with Beth Hall. "It was your fault 
more 'n mine," said I. " I hadreformed, and 
you are a " 

But Beth was gone. 

" I would n't mind," said Dot. " Her con- 
science is a-pricking her." 

" I hope it is," said I, fiercely ; " and yours, 
too, miss," and I turned from the road and 
fled into the woods. I don't know where Dot 

' Way down behind the school-house was a 

cave, where we often played house, Beth and 

me. I went there because I would be sure of seeing 

no one. There I sat all the forenoon, and thought 




of all the tricks we had played on 'Tildy, and called 
myself and poor little Dot and Beth all the hard 
names I could think of. I know I must have felt 
real sorry, for I made up my mind to go and tell 
'Tildy so, and promise to be a better girl in the 

As I came out by 'Tildy's house, what was my 
surprise to find Beth sitting on the old stone wall 
by the road. 

" Well, if I ever," said I. " What did you come 
here for ?" 

" I'm going to see 'Tildy," explained Beth. " My 
conscience has been pricking me till I feel like a 
pincushion, and I'm just going to tell 'Tildy how 
sorry I am, and that I shall behave like an angel 
when she comes back." 

" Well," said I, " that 's what I came for. Let 's 
go together, for, you know, folks say we always set 
each other on. Now, Beth, you begin and set me 
on pretty quick, 'cause aunt Jane will be as cross 
as a bear if I don't get home in time for dinner." 

" But you must set me on, too," said Beth. 

" I 'm trying, but you don't go," I answered. 

Beth sniffed, " It 's all bosh about my setting 
you on, Mary Jane. You don't budge an inch. 
I '11 bet I could push you along a lot faster," and 
before I knew what she was about, I was right in 
front of the door. I meant to knock and then slip 
round the corner, leaving Beth to face the music ; 
but the door opened suddenly, and Mrs. Joy, 
'Tildy's mother, stood upon the threshold. 

" What do you want," said she, in, oh, such a 

tone of voice. " You 've about killed my 'Tildy 
with your capers, and now I won't have you hang- 
ing round the house. If you don't clear out this 
minute I '11 set the dog on to you." 

We ran every step of the way home. 

" Oh, my," gasped Beth, "wasn't she awful?" 

That afternoon we went huckleberrying. 

The summer passed and there was no school, 
but 'Tildy was getting better slowly before I left 
Tuckertown. I went up to bid her good-bye the 
day of the county fair, when Beth said her mother 
would be sure to be out, and I told her how sorry 
I was for everything I had done to annoy her. 
'Tildy said that her uncle had invited her to spend 
the winter in New York, and she was going to wait 
till she was a little older before she tried to teach 
school again. 

I add a letter which I received about a month 
after I got home. It was from Beth, and read : 

"Dear Mary jane: You know I promised to write you what the 
new teacher was like. Well, she is a D R A G O N. 

"The Committee was determined to have no more such doings as 
we had while 'Tildy was here, and they put an advertisement in the 
paper for the crossest woman in America. Guess you would think 
they had found her, if you were here now. She begins the morning 
exercises by whipping all the big boys. I don't mind that so much 
as some other things, though. She has got plenty of discipline. 
We don't climb on the roof, recesses, any more. We don't put toads 
in lur lunch basket. I don't like her. I don't think she is a very 
good teacher for she don't explain things clear. I don't think we 
get on as well as we did when we had 'Tildy. I told Deacon Green 
so. He laughed. All the mothers like her. 

" Your affectionate friend, Elizabeth Hall. 

"P. S. — I don't know for certain that they advertised for Miss 
Clarke, but everything else is just as I have said. Honest injun. " 

By E. W. Olney. 

Did any of you ever happen to see the swarming 
of the winged ants some afternoon in late summer ? 
Those of you who have never thought of ants but 
as the wingless little creatures who run about the 
gardens, may be startled by such a question. But 
when it gets to be July or August, watch the ant- 
hills and nests, and you will see, one day, that they 
seem alive with millions of tiny creatures, all in a 
state of bustling activity; and, presently, there will 
emerge great numbers of insects in such constant 
motion that, at a little distance, they resemble 
glittering silver and jet ribbons interlacing and 
intertwining. They slowly mount into the air, 
vibrating languidly up and down as they fly : they 
never rise higher than ten feet, but move on, at 

that distance from the ground, until scattered by 
the wind or rain. 

These swarms are caused by the young broods 
coming to their full growth. 

There are three sexes among ants, — males, 
females, and neuters or workers. The males and 
females alone have wings, which they enjoy for one 
day of their lives. Comparatively few survive, and 
these are the mother-ants, who are destined to 
form new families. They cast off their wings at 
once, and sometimes find dwellings for them- 
selves ; but, oftener, the neuters seek homes for 
them, clip off their wings, and lead them to their 
cells. In some families of ants, more than one 
female is allowed in the nest ; but as a usual thing, 




there is only one mother-ant, who is sometimes 
termed the queen. The neuters, or working ants, 
are her subjects ; but she might almost be called 
their prisoner, for she is constantly watched and 
tended by them ; they even feed her, and stand 
over her when she rests. As soon as she begins to 
lay her eggs, each one is the object of the most 
faithful care on the part of the neuters, and the eggs 
are borne away and carefully piled in little heaps, 
and watched and guarded until they hatch. When 
the shell is first broken, the infant ant is perfectly 
helpless and not unlike a tiny worm : it is fed by 
the neuters with juices gathered for the purpose, 
and it is carried about to obtain warmth and 
light. One of the chief duties of the neuters at 
this time is to bear the small larvae (as the newly- 
hatched ants are called) out into the sunshine ; but 
if the heat is too great, or if rain threatens, they at 
once take the larvae and carry them into the in- 
side rooms. After the larvae have remained in 
this helpless state for a time, they spin them- 
selves cocoons, but they still depend on the neuters, 
who at length break each cocoon and release the 
nympha, or pupa, which is the fully developed ant. 

As we have said before, these young ants are of 
three kinds, males, females and neuters, and as 
soon as the wings of the first two kinds have grown, 
they leave the nest and fly away. The males never 
return. The neuters and the queen-ants alone 
inhabit the cells until the next year, when the new 
family is ready to swarm. 

Such is the constant system going on in the ant- 
hills and nests we see all about us. We have 
several varieties of ants in our fields and gardens, — 
the red, brown, yellow, and black ants, — and each 
kind has its own method of obtaining food and 
building its habitation. Some of them construct 
the little conical mounds which we call ant-hills. 
These are the outlets to vast subterranean abodes, 
and, on being carefully laid open with a spade, 
arched galleries, domes, pillars and partitions are 
disclosed, all beautifully smoothed and finished, and 
about one-fifth of an inch in height. The ant is 
probably the most enlightened builder of all the 
wonderful species of insects, birds and animals who 
construct their own homes. Ants have been 
observed to use straws and sticks, which they 
happened to come across in their excavations, for 
beams to support the ceilings of their domes. 

Other ants raise a structure above the surface of 
the ground, and carefully build one story above 
another, containing large rooms with arched ceil- 
ings. Still others make their homes in decaying 
wood, in which they burrow hundreds of tiny gal- 
leries and chambers. 

Their muscular power, their perseverance and 
capacity for steady endurance, are simply won- 

derful ; and no such rapid and perfect workers 
exist; for man, with all his scientific skill and his 
tools, could never begin to accomplish in a day 
what these tiny creatures achieve without imple- 
ments and against all manner of obstacles. Coin- 
paring the size of an ant with the size of a man, 
and making the same proportion in the amount of 
their work, not twenty men could begin to accom- 
plish in one day the work of a single ant, for the 
interior of each one of their tunnels is perfectly 
finished ; each pellet of earth is prepared almost as 
carefully as we prepare the bricks that line our 
own excavations. 

In Central and Southern America is to be found 
a variety called the Saiiba ant, and in parts of those 
tropical regions these ants exist in such numbers that 
they sometimes take possession of the country, and 
almost drive away the population. They were for- 
merly called the Parasol ant, because immense 
columns of them were seen marching along, each 
one carrying in its jaws a circular piece of leaf about 
the size of a dime, which they held by one of the 
edges ; and it was supposed that the little creatures 
thus endeavored to ward off the burning heat of 
the sun, which sometimes kills ants. But a careful 
naturalist, studying their habits, discovered that 
these leaves were used to thatch the domes of their 
habitations. Strange to say, nowhere is division of 
labor more complete than in the building of ants' 
homes, for the laborers who gather and fetch leaves 
do not place them, but merely fling them on the 
ground and start at once for more, while other 
workers take them up, place them, and carefully 
cover them with minute globules of prepared earth. 

But, although the neuter ants as a general thing 
are such admirable workers, we find among other 
varieties totally different customs ; and, instead of a 
family of ants being composed of faithful co-workers 
and females, we occasionally find something resem- 
bling an aristocracy. Peter Huber, a renowned 
naturalist, who devoted his life to the observation 
of the habits of ants, relates the following story : 

The afternoon of the 17th of June, 1804, he was 
walking in the suburbs of Geneva, when he saw a 
regiment of large red ants crossing the road. They 
marched in good order, with a front of three or four 
inches, and in a column eight or ten feet long. 
Huber followed them, crossed a hedge, and entered 
a pasture-ground where the grass was thick and 
high, and presently came upon a nest belonging to 
another species of ants, blackish or ash-colored. 
A few of these little creatures were guarding the 
entrance, and, as soon as they perceived the red 
ants, some of them darted angrily upon them, 
while the others rushed inside to give the alarm. 
The besieged ants came out in a body ; the enemy 
dashed upon them, and, after a short but spirited 




struggle, succeeded in driving them back into their 
holes, and followed them in. Huber, who was 
used to seeing battles among ants, supposed that 


the red ants were slaughtering the black ones 
inside the nest; but not so. What was his surprise 
when, five minutes later, the red ants emerged, 
each holding between its mandibles an egg, or 
cocoon, of the conquered tribe ! They retook the 
same road they had come, and made their way 
back to their homes still loaded with their prey. 

This expedition — showing such fierce, warlike 
qualities and determined kidnapping on the part 
of the red ants — naturally inspired M. Huber to 
study their characteristics by watching their ant- 
hills. He discovered that the red ants (which he 
at once named the Amazons, from their warlike 
attributes) never worked, but that their sole duty 
was to fight, and carry off these eggs and cocoons 
from the black ants ; and that the work was per 
formed entirely by those black ants which had, in 
fact, been taken prisoners before they were hatched. 
The Amazons are quite helpless, and the black, or 
negro, ants, named by Huber "auxiliaries," perform 
all the labor which among other species is per- 
formed by the neuters of the same family. They 
open and close all the outlets and inlets to the nest; 
they go after food and feed the helpless larvae and 
pupa;, both the young of the Amazons and those 
which have been stolen; they also feed their mas- 
ters, the Amazons, and, in fact, carry on the entire 
establishment. Huber made an experiment which 
very plainly shows the dependence of the Amazons 
upon their auxiliaries. He inclosed thirty Amazons 
with several of their own nymphae and larvae, be- 
sides twenty of the black ant nymphae, in a glass 
box, the bottom of which was covered with a thick 

layer of earth : honey was given to them, so that 
they lacked neither shelter nor food, although they 
were cut off from their auxiliaries. At first they 
paid some little attention to the young, and carried 
them about here and there ; but they soon left 
them. They did not even know how to provide 
themselves with food, and several died of hunger 
at the end of two days, although the honey-drops 
were close beside them ! 

The others were weak and languid, and not one 
of them had made the slightest effort to build 
a home for himself in the earth. Huber was 
sorry for them, and put one black auxiliary ant in 
the glass box. The faithful little worker at once 
established order and comfort, built a house in the 
earth and gathered together the infant larvae and 
placed them inside it, and preserved the lives of 
the helpless Amazons about to perish of hunger. 

In order to more perfectly get at the facts of 
their ways and doings, Huber opened and dis- 
ordered an ant-hill where both Amazons and 
auxiliaries lived together, and so confused the 
boundaries that the Amazons could not find their 
way about. The auxiliaries, however, seemed to 
be much better able to detect the old paths. 
Huber writes: "An Amazon was frequently seen 
to approach a black ant and play upon its head 
with its antennae, or feelers, when the black ant at 
once seized its master in its pincers and laid it at 
one of the entrances. The Amazon then unrolled 
itself, caressed once more its kind friend, and 
passed into the interior of the nest." 

Those remarkable organs, the antennae, with 
which the Amazon touches the auxiliary, seem to 
be their principal instruments of communication, 
and to take the place of voice and words. When the 
military ants are to set out for a foray, or a battle, 
thev touch each other on the trunks with the 


antennae and forehead; and this is the signal for 
marching, for as soon as any one has received it 
he is instantly in motion. If a hungry Amazon 
wants to be fed, he touches with his two antennas 
the auxiliary from whom he expects his meal. 




The helpless larvae, too, are thus touched when it 
is time for them to open their mouths and receive 
their food. Ants show great kindness to inmates 
of their own nests that happen to be in trouble. 
Sir John Lubbock relates that in one of his nests 
of a certain species there was a poor ant which 
had come into the world without antennae. Never 
having previously met with such a case, he watched 
her with great interest, but she appeared never to 

expressed by motions of joy and exultation. They 
have a peculiar way of skipping and leaping, stand- 
ing upon their hind legs and prancing with the 
others. These frolics they make use of both to 
congratulate each other when they meet and to 
show their regard for their queen." 

Let us recount another experiment of M Hu- 
ber's : He took an ant-hill from the woods and put 
it in his glass hive. Finding that he had too many 


leave the nest. At length, one day, he found her 
wandering about in an aimless way, apparently not 
knowing whither to turn. After a while she fell in 
with some specimens of different ants, who directly 
attacked her. He rescued her, but she was evi- 
dently badly wounded, and lay helpless on the 
ground. After some time an ant from her own 
nest came that way, examined the poor sufferer 
carefully, and then picked her up and carried her 

In many ways these tiny creatures show their 
intelligence, their affection and tenderness toward 
each other. " In whatever apartment," says Gould. 
" a queen-ant condescends to be present, she com- 
mands obedience and respect. A universal glad- 
ness spreads throughout the whole cell, and is 

ants, he let some of them escape, and they made a 
nest in his garden. He kept the hive in his study 
for four months, then put it in his garden, some 
forty feet from the nest the others had formed. 
The ants in the garden nest at once recognized 
their former companions, whom they had not seen 
for four months. They entered the hive and 
caressed their old friends with their antennae ; 
and taking them up in their mandibles, bore them 
to their own nest. 

Not only have these insects strong affections, but 
they have strong passions as well, and often indulge 
in long and bloody wars. At first, two combatants 
seize each other, tearing off each other's legs and 
antennae, and injecting their acid poison into the 
wounds. Others take part on each side till long 




chains are formed, each column struggling for the 
mastery. Thus, myriads of them fight for days, 
until violent rains, or other causes, separate them, 
they forget their quarrel and peace is restored. 

Some statements regarding ants, although well 
authenticated, almost pass belief; for instance, it 
is affirmed, both by Linnasus and Huber, that four 
or five species of ants milk the aphides — those little 
plant-lice which deposit the honey-dew on the 
leaves of trees in summer and autumn — in order to 
obtain the sweet fluid with which their bodies are 
filled. These aphides, or plant-lice, are called by 
naturalists the milch-cows of the ants, and nothing 
is more highly prized as food by the ants than the 
honey they obtain from them by pressing the 
bodies of the insects with their antennae. These 
aphides have often been found in the nests of the 
yellow ants, apparently domesticated. They were 
evidently highly prized as domestic animals by 
their masters, for on the slightest appearance of 
danger they took them up in their jaws and 
carried them to a more secure spot. During 
autumn, winter and spring, many varieties of ants 
keep aphides, and rely on them for food, for the 
aphides can live upon the roots of plants which grow 
down into the nests. In northern climates ants do 
not otherwise lay in a stock of food for winter, for 
they are torpid under the effects of cold, but in 
warmer countries they store away their winter sup- 
ply of nutriment carefully. 

In the tropics these little creatures exist in count- 

they drive before them any living creature, for no 
animal can withstand them. They destroy every- 
thing that crosses their path, — even the agile 
monkey, — for once let them make a lodgment on 
the body of any living creature and they devour 
it. Even reptiles fall victims to these ants,— the 
large lizards of those countries and snakes. Their 
manner of attacking snakes is to bite the eyes, as 
this causes them to writhe and flounder blindly in 
one spot instead of gliding away ; and the masses 
of insects which at once settle upon the helpless 
prey soon finish it. The natives say that when 
the great python has crushed its victim within its 
deadly folds, it does not devour it at once, but 
makes a careful examination of the land at least 
half a mile on every side to discover if an army 
of these Driver ants is on the march. If so, it 
retreats, leaving its dinner to them ; but if the 
coast is clear it returns to its prey, swallows it, and 
gives itself up to repose until the meal is digested. 

So great is the dread of these Driver ants among 
the human inhabitants, that, as their armies ap- 
proach, whole villages are deserted. 

But in South America is found a species called 
the Ecitons, or Foraging ants, which the people of 
those countries hail as deliverers. For the houses 
are overrun with venomous little creatures of all 
kinds, — all of them ugly and many of them 
dangerous, as their fangs are full of poison. 
There are scorpions, centipedes, lizards, besides 
armies of disgusting cockroaches and every variety 


less varieties, and many of them are of such fierce 
character and strong instincts that they are a scourge 
to the human population of the countries they 
inhabit. Among these species is the Driver ant, of 
Western Africa. They are called Drivers because 

of smaller insect and vermin which can infest the 
habitations of man. 

Against all such torments the Ecitons wage war. 
These foraging ants sally forth in vast narrow 
columns of at least two hundred feet in length ; on 




the outside of the column are officers like ser- 
geants, who incessantly run backward and forward 
to see that every one is in his place. 

The advent of these fierce little foragers is known 
by numbers of birds called pittas or ant-thrushes 
which fly above them ; and as soon as the Central 
Americans perceive the ants, they rejoice in their 
expected relief, and at once open their houses 
for them; not only doors 
and windows but every 
box and drawer, every 
closet and cupboard is 
opened to its widest; this 
done, the inhabitants re- 
tire from the premises 
until the war is over. 

Presently the Ecitons 
approach. First they 
send their vanguard to 
inspect the houses and 
see if they will repay 
the trouble of a search. 
Then the long ant-col- 
umn pours in, and pene- 
trates each crack and 
corner and enters every 
nook and cranny. Not 
alone the smaller ver- 
min, but cockroaches, 
rats and mice fall speedy 
victims to them, and 
even the scorpion and 
centipede are powerless 
against them. In a won- 
derfully short time the 
house is cleaned out, and 
the army passes on laden 
with spoils, leaving the 
inhabitants to return and 
find no intruders upon 
their comfort — no scor- 
pions in their shoes, nor 

cockroaches in their food. But even our own 
common ants will not hesitate to attack reptiles 
if provoked, as is proved by the following interest- 
ing account by Dr. J. T. Payne : 

" While camping in Alabama, during the late 
war, I witnessed an attack of a band of black ants 
upon a striped snake. One evening, while I was 
trying to go to sleep after a long day's march, I 
felt something move under my head. I lifted one 
corner of the blanket and found a snake between 
three and four feet in length. I quickly hit it with 
a small stick; but the snake hardly seemed to be 
stunned by the blow, for he coiled himself up. 
Then, with the aid of the stick, I threw him about 
fifteen feet away, and he landed upon a large ant- 

hill. Almost instantly the ants came forth from 
their nest, which was underground, and began a 
vigorous attack upon the intruder, who soon was 
covered by scores of his small assailants, biting him 
fearfully. I thought the snake would move away 
quickly, but he seemed resolutely determined to 
fight. The battle raged with great fury, and in a 
few minutes there was formed about the spot a 


circle of human observers, who had been called 
together by the unusual sight. The contest seemed, 
at first, to be an unequal one ; for the snake was 
rapidly thinning out his persecutors. But, on the 
other hand, the ants were very numerous, and quick 
in their aggressive movements. The active little 
creatures fought with a desperation wonderful to 
behold, while the snake, by one blow of his power- 
ful tail, would kill or wound a long line of ants. 
It so happened that the soil was soft and sandy, 
and the snake soon worked himself by his twistings 
several feet from the nest. When he struck the 
ants, many were forced into the sand, stunned for a 
moment or two, but then they jumped Tip and 
fought as vigorously as before. I was astonished 

5 6 ° 



beyond measure to see the tactics of the ants. 
When they perceived that their numbers were 
being lessened, they despatched couriers for rein- 
forcements, which appeared on the scene in due 
time, to replace the killed and wounded. Several 
hours passed, and the fight still raged. The moon, 
after a time, lit the scene ; but as there appeared 
to be no signs of a near termination of the strug- 
gle, one after another of the spectators sought a 
comfortable place to sleep, and I myself at length 
felt my eyes grow heavy, and again stretched my- 
self on my blanket. 

" Before moving away from the scene, next 
morning, I thought I would take a look at the 
field that had interested so many spectators during 
the previous evening. 

" The battle between the ants and the snake 
had ended, and on the ground were evidences that 
the struggle had been severe indeed. The slain 
insects were scattered in every direction ; but there 
were six or seven watchful ants upon the back of 
the snake, which lay stretched out near the ant- 

By far the most wonderful of all varieties of 
the ant-tribe are the Termites, or white ants of the 
East Indies and Southern America, but they differ 
in so many respects from the ordinary ant that 
some naturalists do not class them among ants, 
but among the neuropterous insects. Their fam- 
ilies are composed of males, females and neuters ; 
they live in communities and construct hills and 
turrets, and so much resemble the true ants, or 
Formicidae, that, outside of scientific rules, they 
seem to be of the same general family. They 
swarm at certain seasons like true ants, in the 
manner that we have described, but in such pro- 
digious numbers that they form the chief food of the 
birds, reptiles, and even of the men living near, 
who are on the lookout for them as they fall to the 
ground after their short day of aerial life. Few 
survive this swarming, for they are devoured as a 
great delicacy by all sorts of ant-eaters. But it is 
probably a law of nature that only a few queen- 
ants should live, as each one lays eggs to the 
amount of some thirty millions. The working 
ants, after gaining a queen, inclose her in a sort of 
cell, to preserve her from her enemies, it is sup- 
posed — for her large, soft body renders her incapa- 

ble of taking care of herself. In this cell are 
small holes, to enable the workers to pass inside 
and gather the eggs, which she lays more rapidly 
than one can credit ; sixty a minute, — upwards of 
eighty thousand in twenty-four hours. 

The houses built by Termites are, compared 
with the builders' size, the highest in the world. 
Man, in order to compete with these insects, must 
raise an edifice two thousand eight hundred 
feet in height; for one of these white ants is but a 
quarter of an inch long, and one inch, for it, is 
equal to twentj'-four feet for a man. These nests 
are ten and twelve feet above the ground, and 
beneath are large galleries, extending hundreds 
of yards under the earth ; and the roads from 
these lower chambers wind in spirals up to the 
top of the hill. The view of these habitations 
from a distance much resembles an assemblage 
of huts, and the hills are composed of a sort of 
clay which in time bears grass and other plants. 

The principal food of these creatures is wood, 
although they will work through almost anything; 
they are miners in their tactics, and always eat 
first through the interior of what they attack, 
leaving the outer surface apparently untouched. 
Their obvious place in the economy of the universal 
system of things is to absorb the constantly decay- 
ing vegetable matter which encumbers tropical 
forests. They devour enormous fallen trees in a 
few weeks. 

Ants' instincts are certainly most wonderful, 
and their tenacity of life, when attacked by human 
agencies, at times shows absolute powers of reason. 
Nothing in animal or insect life can surpass their 
perseverance, their industry, nor their attachment 
to their young, although, strange to say, that 
attachment is alone displayed by the sexless neu- 
ters, while the mother-ant seems to be a mere ma- 
chine for laying eggs. 

Ants have always been and continue to be a 
torment to the human race, but, nevertheless, not all 
the discomfort at times arising from their depre- 
dations has ever lessened the curiosity and patient 
study of those who have spent their lives chronicling 
their habits and instincts, their forays and wars ; 
and we must all regard with interest and admiration 
the activity, harmony and cheerful energies which 
reign in their swarming but tiny communities. 

i33o. I 



; • $ $ « 


Dorothy Dump, Dorothy Dump, 

Sat in her palace, forlorn ; 
She ate her honey and .counted her money, 

And moped from morn to morn. 
What a dolorous world ! " said Dorothy Dump ; 
" I wish I had never been born ! " 


Mm 4a Ii Jm 

m f 

hi HI ' 


WHO 'LT,' 



Barbara Bright, Barbara Bright, 
Toiled for the wretched and poor ; 

She gave them money and fed them with honey 
And taught them how to be truer. 
" What a beautiful world ! " said Barbara Bright ; 

" 'T is good to be living, I 'm sure!" 





By Noah Brooks. 




Pitc/ter — Ned Martin. 

Catclier — John Hale, otherwise "The Lob." 

1st Base — Jo Murch. 

2d Base — Hi Hatch. 

jd Base — James Pat Adams. 

Short Stop — Sam Perkins, Captain. 

Left Field — Sam Black, otherwise "Blackie." 

Center Field — Billy Hetherington. 

Right Field — Bill Watson, otherwise "Chunky." 

The whole assisted by a large number of young ladies and gentlemen, 
live long enough. 

Pitcher — Jake Coombs. 

Catcher — Eph Weeks. 

1st Base — Joe Patchen. 

2d Base — George Bridges. 

3d Base — Sam Booden, Captain. 

Short Stop — Eph Mullett, otherwise " Nosey." 

Left Field— Dm Morey. 

Center Field — Joe Fitts. 

Right Field — Peletiah Snelgro. 

fho do not belong to any base-ball nine, but who hope to, if they 

Chapter I. 


In Fairport, every boy slept with some other 
boy on the night before the Fourth of July. If 
any boy did sleep in his own bed, it was because 
he had a playmate with him. But, for the most 
part, the boys of that period thought it poor fun to 
sleep at home on that eventful night. They all 
preferred to sleep in barns, hay-mows, or some 
other out-of-the-way and unusual place. It was a 
sign that a fellow was a milk-sop if he slept in a 
real bed on that night, except under such circum- 
stances as have just been referred to. For there 
was a great deal to be done on the night before the 
Fourth. In the first place, there was a bonfire to 
be built on the common. There was a large, bare 
spot in the middle of the common where the grass 
refused to grow from one year's end to another, 
because the bonfire was built there on the night 
before the Fourth. And to feed that fire, it was 
necessary to gather much fuel from various and 
distant places. Spare barrels, store-boxes, and 
occasionally a loose board from off some careless 
person's fence, were to be brought in. The boys 
did not take gates off their hinges to kindle the fire, 
as tradition said that their older brothers did, when 
they were boys. The time of which I write was a 
great improvement on that elder period. No boy 
fed the bonfire with anything more valuable than 
the few loose things that could be picked up with- 
out alarming the neighbors. The neighbors were 
easily alarmed, anyhow. There was a class of old 
ladies in Fairport who never remembered from one 
Fourth of July to another that, on the night before 
it, the boys, ever since there were any boys, built a 
bonfire on the common. So, when the bright 
flames began to rise up in the darkness, one or 
more of these timid women would be sure to come 

out on her door-step and cry: "Boys! Boys! 
What are you doing? You '11 set the town a-fire, 
you pesky boys ! " 

Jo Murch ( his whole name was Jotham Augus- 
tus Murch) used to be very much mortified when 
his mother came out like that, and he would say : 
" Now, Ma, don't be so foolish. There is n't any 
danger of our setting anything a-fire ! " Once, one 
of the Selectmen of the town, a very dignified and 
truly awful person, came upon the common to see 
what the boys were at. It was nearly midnight, 
and it seemed as if something alarming was about 
to happen when the great man came out at that 
time of night. But he only looked the party of 
boys all over, as if to be sure that he would know 
them again, if anything happened, and then he 
went away, telling them to be careful of the sparks. 

"My! Was n't I afraid he would see old 
Snelgro's wheelbarrow ! " said Ned Martin, when 
the Selectman was gone. 

At midnight, as near as they could guess, it was 
necessary that the meeting-house bell should be 
rung. At least, every Fairport boy thought it 
was necessary ; and it was rung. There was a 
bell on the school-house at the right of the com- 
mon, only, as nobody but the nearest neighbors 
objected to the ringing of this bell, the boys did 
not much enjoy ringing it. They took a pull 
at it, once in a while, for fear that the folks 
around would not know that the glorious Fourth 
had arrived. The folks usually found it out before 
day-break. The town bell was on the Unitarian 
meeting-house, below the school-house, and facing 
the street which skirted the bottom of the Com- 
mon. To ring this bell was not only necessary, 
but it was also a great feat. The Selectmen had 
forbidden that the bell should be rung by any- 
body but the town sexton, except in case of fire. 
From time immemorial, Old Fitts had been the 




town sexton, and if any man really hated boys, 
Old Fitts did. Probably he never was a boy. It 
seemed absurd to think that he ever could have 
been a boy. Boys were his natural enemies. 
They used to shin up the lightning-rod of the 
church and catch the pigeons which he reared in 
the belfry ; and they used to ring the bell on the 
night before the Fourth of July. Generation after 
generation of boys had done this; but, somehow, 
Old Fitts could never become reconciled to it. On 
the particular night about which I am going to 
write, Old Fitts had not only nailed up one of the 
two church doors and put an extra padlock on 
the other, but he had carried away the bell-rope. 
The Fairport boys were a curious set. They 
laughed among themselves when they saw him 
going home, after he had rung the nine o'clock 
bell, with the long bell-rope coiled up on his back. 
But when they flew to the doors, after he was well 
out of sight, and beheld the defenses which he 
had put on them, they began to think that, for 
the first time in the history of the world, the bell 
would not be rung on the night before the Fourth 
of July. 

As the boys scattered to the barns and hay-mows 
where they had chosen to sleep, Ned Martin said 
to his crony, Sam Perkins : 

" I '11 ring that bell before daylight, you see." 

" But how, Ned ? " 

Now, Sam was the leader of the boys in almost 
all of the mischief that was afoot, and he was, be- 
side all that, the captain of the Fairport Nine. For 
Fairport had a base-ball nine, and it was the terror 
of the surrounding villages. Of course, Sam did 
not want any other boy to lead off in a feat of this 
kind unless he had a hand in it himself. But Ned 
Martin knew a thing or two, and Sam was sure 
that he would ring the bell, if he said so. And 
when the boys, three of them, for Hi Hatch bunked 
in with them that night, were safely hidden in the 
hay, Ned unfolded to them his plan. It was a 
good scheme, and all agreed to it. 

In all the world, probably, there is no stillness 
like that which comes between nine o'clock and 
the time when the Fairport boys get up to ring 
the bell and build their bonfire, on the night before 
the Fourth of July. At least, Hiram Hatch thought 
so that night, as he lay awake in the hay in his 
father's barn, listening to the heavy breathing of 
his mates. The spears of hay tickled his ear so 
that he could not get to sleep ; and the stillness was 
awful. He almost wished that he was snug in his 
own bed, and he wondered why Ned and Sam 
should go to sleep so soon, and he should be so 
broad awake. There was a sound of something on 
the barn floor below. It was a tread ! Then he 
heard a ghostly whisper, and he felt the hair rising 

on his head. Desperately poking Sam in the back 
he whispered : 

" There is something climbing up the ladder ! " 

Sam bounced up and cried: "What's — what's 
that ! " 

There was a scrambling and a rush of feet below, 
and all was still again. But Hiram was too badly 
scared to go to sleep at once, and when, tired out 
by his long vigil, he did drop off into slumber, he 
slept so soundly that Sam had hard work to wake 
him, as he shook him and shouted in his ear: . 

" Remember you have got to play second base, 

" What do you s'pose that was in the barn, just 
now ? " shivered Hiram, for the midnights in Fair- 
port are cool, seeing that the town is on Penobscot 
Bay, on the cold coast of Maine. 

"Oh bother!" said Sam. "Let's get out of 
this as still as we can. If your father should hear 
us, as likely as not he 'd fire that double-barreled 
shot-gun at us." 

Hiram held his peace, for the double-barreled 
shot-gun was a sore subject with him, since he had 
promised to carry it off on the sly and have it for 
firing the usual midnight salute. He was com- 
forted now by the reflection that he had not the 
responsibility of that gun on his mind ; and Ned 
assured him that the noise in the night was prob- 
ably only made by some of the other boys who had 
intended to steal a place to sleep, without waking up 
the rightful tenants. 

Silently, and as if bent on some dreadful deed, 
dark forms now stole in from all around, and clus- 
tered in the middle of the common. A crockery 
crate, filled with straw, and stuck all around with 
pickets from some slothful man's dilapidated fence, 
was set on fire. The cheerful blaze, ascending, 
lighted up the fronts of the houses on the edge of 
the common, and shed a lurid glare on the tall 
elms which stood tremulously in the midnight air. 
The flames warmed the boys, and revived their 
spirits, somewhat damped by cold and lack of sleep. 

" Hurrah for the Fourth of July ! " shouted Bill 
Watson, a burly little chap, the right fielder, and 
better known as " Chunky." Then every other 
fellow cried " Hurrah for the Fourth of July ! " 
And it was felt that the fun had begun. 

Amidst great enthusiasm, Pat Adams now fired 
off his gun. It was only a single-barreled one, to 
be sure, but it spoke well for itself. Pat's name 
was James Patterson Adams, but he was known, 
for short, as Pat Adams, and, when the boys were not 
in much of a hurry, he was called Jim Pat Adams, 
to distinguish him from another Jim whose name 
was not Adams. When the bang of Pat's gun rent 
the air, there was a sound of opening windows, and 
the boys knew that angry looks were directed 




toward them from some of the houses roundabout. 
There was a wild hurrah when Sam Black, assisted 
by Billy Hetherington, staggered up to the fire 
with the better part of a tar-barrel, which they had 
hidden away some days before. There is no aris- 
tocracy among real boys, and it was an evidence of 
this truth that Sam Black, who was the only negro 
boy in Fairport, was a crony of Billy Hetherington, 
whose father was the county judge, and had been 
to Congress. If any boy had a right to be " stuck 
\\p," it was Billy, whose family held themselves 
very high in Fairport. But Billy never once 
thought of such a thing. If he had, his mates 
would have cut him at once, and he would have 
found himself alone in the village of boys. It was 
curious that the only black boy in the town should 
be Black by name. So Sam, who was a great 
favorite with his comrades, was usually called 
" Blackie," a term which carried with it no idea 
of contempt. Blackie was the best fellow of the 
boys of that generation, and, moreover, he knew 
more of the habits of the birds, beasts, fish, and all 
manner of living wild things, than most of the 
naturalists who write thick books about the animal 
kingdom. The times and seasons when birds 
come and go, and when they mate, and where they 
build their nests, as well as the secret lairs of the 
small game of the woods and fields, were all as 
familiar to Blackie as if he had been born in the 
wilderness, and not in a house on stilts at the har- 
bor's edge. 

"Three cheers for the left fielder!" cried Jo 
Murch, as Blackie, his face shining with satisfac- 
tion and pride, helped Billy Hetherington heave 
the tar-barrel on the blazing pile. " And now, 
boys, for the bell," he added, for it was already 
past twelve, one of the boys having reconnoitered, 
through the kitchen window of a neighboring 
house, to ascertain the time of night. 

Ned Martin looked around on the little group of 
lads in his superior way, and said : 

" Which of you fellows is the best on shinning a 
lightning-rod?" There was a great laugh when 
John Hale stoutly answered: "I am!" for John 
was so big and lubberly that he was never called 
anything but the "lob." In Fairport, the 'long- 
shoremen call any craft which is clumsy and 
unwieldy " lob-sided," meaning, perhaps, that it is 
lop-sided, a phrase which may be found in the dic- 
tionaries. If one but stuck out a fist at Johnny 
Hale he fell over. And when the schoolmaster 
tried to get him up on the tall stool where it was 
the custom for boys to be hoisted for punishment, 
the master and Johnny invariably came down in a 
heap together on the floor, the "lob" was so very 
clumsy and so very heavy. Nevertheless, the "lob," 
for all his awkwardness, was the champion catcher 

in Fairport, and the envy of the White Bears, the 
rival club from the south end of town. 

The "lob" was rejected as the champion climber, 
however, and little Sam Murch, Jo's brother, was 
selected for the feat of shinning up the lightning- 
rod of the church. 

As an aid, in case of need, the volunteered ser- 
vices of Blackie were also promptly accepted, for 
the Fairport Nine never did anything that was not 
"ship-shape and Bristol fashion," or, otherwise, 
according to rule and discipline. 


Old Major Boffin's house stood so near the meet- 
ing-house that one could toss a biscuit from the 
roof of one to the other; and the Major's grand- 
son, Ike, was a member of the party, though not 
of the famous " Nine." This was lucky; and it was 
also lucky that the roof of the Major's house was 
nearly flat, and that it had at each of the angles of 
said roof a big, square chimney, so big that two or 
three boys might hide behind one of them without 




fear of detection. And when it was remembered 
that the roof of the Major's house could be reached 
by a lightning-rod, much easier of ascent than that 
on the meeting-house, it was evident that fortune 
favored the brave when it was necessary for the 
brave to ring the bell on the night before the 
Fourth of July. The testy old Major, calmly 
sleeping in his bed, could not have dreamed how 
much his property was contributing to the celebra- 
tion of the glorious Fourth, when, in addition to 
all this, Ned Martin, carefully stripping the sheets, 
shirts and pillow-cases from the clothes-line in the 
Major's garden, took the line and making one end 
fast to the ankle of little Murch, gave him a hoist, 
and told him to "go it" up the lightning-rod of 
the meeting-house. 

The projection of the eaves of the building set 
the rod out from the side of it a great way, and, 
as the rod was jointed in two or three places, it 
swayed fearfully while Sam laboriously shinned up 
it. Now and again, he would be flung round and 
round by the swinging rod, as he passed over the 
clanking joints, the clatter of which threatened to 
bring the choleric Major down upon them at any 

" Hold fast, little one," hoarsely whispered Cap- 
tain Sam from below, for Sam, with his usual 
facility for taking command, had now assumed the 
direction of things. " Hold fast, or Blackie will 
be on your heels." And Blackie, dancing up and 
down with impatience, was ready to make a spring 
at the rod when little Murch should be out of his 

" Bully for Sam," half shouted Ned Martin, for 
the little fellow had reached the edge of the far- 
projecting eaves, and was now struggling to get 
over the most difficult part. The boys below held 
their breath, for it was a perilous place. The light- 
ning-rod, after turning up the edge of the shingles, 
was fastened to the roof by strong staples which 
held it firmly down and afforded almost no hold to 
which even a boy's small and hook-like fingers 
could cling. But little Sam was " clear grit," as 
his brother proudly remarked in a suppressed 
whisper, and while the silent spectators below all 
looked up, with their hearts in their mouths, he 
turned the edge of the eaves and went picking 
his way up the roof, hand over hand. It was now 
Blackie's turn to go up, but Captain Sam interfered, 
and declared that if both of the best climbers went 
up into the meeting-house belfry, there would be 
nobody to shin up to the roof of the Major's house 
and carry the rope from the bell, when it was made 
fast. Half-a-dozen boys volunteered to go up the 
Major's lightning-rod, but Ike Boffin agreed to 
" hook in" by the back door, steal up the stairs to 
the roof, and take care of the rope when there. 

" So, then, you are to have all the fun of ringing, 
the bell, are you ? " demanded Captain Sam, sar- 

" Well," said Ike, " you pick out four other 
fellows, and I will undertake to get them up on 
our roof, if they will promise to be mighty still 
about it." 

Accordingly, Captain Sam, Ned Martin, Hi 
Hatch and Chunky were chosen to go up on the 
Major's roof, guided by Ike, who, with a quaking 
heart, opened the back door and let in these mid- 
night conspirators. No cat could have climbed 
the stairs more softly than the five boys, Ike at the 
head. Barefoot and breathless, they stole by the 
door of the- sacred chamber where the old Major, 
snoring manfully, was sleeping in happy uncon- 
sciousness of what was going on around him. 
Drawing a long breath, the five boys found them- 
selves out on the roof at last. To their great 
delight and relief, they saw little Murch just shin- 
ning up the part of the rod which led from the 
roof to the belfry, not a very difficult job, in com- 
parison with that which he had just finished. In 
a moment more he was in the belfry, and pausing 
on the balustrade which decorated the rim, he gave 
a noiseless cheer, dropped over to the inner side, 
and made fast to the clapper of the bell the end of 
the line which he had brought up with him. Ned 
Martin now dropped down from the roof of the 
Major's house one end of a mackerel line which he 
had with him. To this the boys below fastened 
the end of the line from the bell-clapper, and it 
was drawn up to Captain Sam, who took it up be- 
hind his chimney with great joy. The boys on the 
ground now scattered to all parts of the common, 
at a whispered command from Captain Sam, and 
then the big bell struck a peal of mighty strokes, 
pulled by the sinewy hand of Sam. The night 
air quivered with the blows on the bell. Old Fitts' 
pigeons, affrighted by the midnight booming of 
the bell, flew out in crowds, scaring Sam Murch 
as they dashed in his face. The brave little lad 
swung himself over the balustrade, and, sliding 
down the roof in a hurry, was soon on the long- 
and swaying rod below, and on firm ground once 
more, and then safe among his comrades. 

" Those pesky boys," sighed Grandmother Bof- 
fin, as she turned uneasily in her sleep, but awake 
enough to know what was the cause of the hor- 
rible din which rent the air. The Major got out 
of bed, and, putting his head out of the window, 
addressed the darkness, commanding all in sound 
of his voice to disperse and go home, or take the 
consequences. But the old Major never forgot 
that he had been a boy once himself, although 
that was a great many years ago ; and when he 
went back to bed, smiling grimly to himself as the 

5 66 



bell answered his warning with a yet louder peal, 
he said: "Well, mother, boys will be boys, you 
know. There 's no law ag'in ringing the meeting- 
house bell on the night before the Fourth." The 
Major, although a hot-tempered man, remembered 
that he had fought in " the last war " — that of 1812 
— and something was due, he thought, to the day 
we celebrate. 

A sudden idea struck the good grandmother. 
She crept out of bed, stole to the bedroom of her 
grandson, passed her hand over the vacant bed, 
and then going back to her chamber-window, cried 
into the air, as the Major had done, "You, Ike, 
wherever you are, don't you dare to come into the 
house for your breakfast ! " Ike, who was now 
taking his turn at the clothes-line, laughed to him- 
self. He remembered that he had a share in a 
boiled ham, a basket of apples and a paper of 
crackers, stowed away in Hatch's barn, under the 

Suddenly there was an alarm of " Fitts ! Fitts ! " 
from the boys stationed on the court-house steps, 
from which post they could see all the way down 
Howe's lane, up which the old sexton must come 
to the defense of his precious bell. Fortunately 
for the boys, Fitts never stirred out of doors, no 
matter how light the night, without his lantern. 
And the rays from that familiar lantern, " like a 
lightning-bug," as Billy Hetherington declared, 
now bobbed along the ground as Fitts climbed the 
hilly lane. 

Warned in time, not a boy was in sight when 
the old sexton, grumbling to himself, reached the 
top of the hill and went across the bottom of the 
common toward the meeting-house. The bell 
continued to ring, much to the delight of the boys 
hidden behind the chimneys and stowed away in 
various nooks and corners below. With infinite 
trouble, Old Fitts got the door open, and with 
many a hard word for the boys, toiled up the long 
stairs which led to the belfry. " Now, then, Ned, 
give her a good one," whispered Captain Sam, as 
the old sexton's lantern, shining through the bel- 
fry windows, showed that he was almost up to the 
bell, and, sure enough, as Fitts put his head out 
of the scuttle which opened to the deck of the 
belfry, a tremendous and audacious peal boomed 
directly over his head. 

The old man walked all around the big bell. 
Not a boy was to be seen. The rope, he knew, 
was safe in his own house, and there was no sign 
of anything by which the bell could be rung. The 
light line leading to the roof of the Boffin house 
was too small to be noticed as it lay on the slanting 
deck of the belfry. The boys chuckled to them- 
selves as they watched the puzzled old man walking 
around the bell, again and again peering over the 

balustrade, as if to see if some small boy were 
circling around in the air with the scared pigeons 
which silently flew about their master's head. It 
was very queer, so it was. 

Just then, the "lob," who was never known to 
stand up when he could fall down, slipped on the 
roof behind the Boffin chimney that hid him. He 
might have slid off to the ground below if he had 
not put out his hand to save himself by grabbing 
at the boy next to him, which happened to be Sam, 
who tried to shake the "lob" from him. It was in 
vain, and the two boys came down in a heap be- 
hind the chimney, Sam pulling the rope with him. 
As he fell, the bell, of course, was given another 
peal, and the rope in the belfry flew up before the 
astonished eyes of the old sexton. Fitts stooped, 
cut the line, and, shaking his fist in the direction 
of the Major's house, cried, " I've stopped your 
fun this time, you young varmints;" and so he 
had. When he had carefully locked the scuttle of 
the belfry, descended the stairs and gone home, 
his light disappearing in the distance, the four boys 
on the roof, somewhat crestfallen, silently slid down 
the Major's lightning-rod, and made their way up 
to the bonfire. The "lob" was overwhelmed with 
ridicule for his share in the failure of the bell-ring- 
ing feat. " And he wanted to shin up the meeting- 
house lightning-rod ! " said Captain Sam, derisively. 

Blackie, however, soon found a way to remedy 
the mischief. He went up the lightning-rod again 
with the agility of a cat, spliced the line, then, dis- 
daining to go up through the Major's house, he 
shinned up its lightning-rod and speedily had 
the bell a-ringing merrily. Meantime, the boys 
about the bonfire were doing their best to celebrate 
the night by firing the few pieces of small-arms 
which they had ; and their fire-crackers were ex- 
ploded — sparingly, however, as it was borne in 
mind that the Fourth was yet to come, and more 
noise would be needed for the day. 

Hiram Hatch, returning from a visit to the back 
of Major Boffin's house to encourage Blackie, who 
was pulling away lustily at the bell-rope, cast his 
eyes on the fire, and, to his horror, spied the re- 
mains of the leaching-tub which he knew ought 
to be standing on his father's barn floor. "Where 
did that come from?" he demanded. Nobody 
knew, but Chunky guessed that Jo Murch and 
George Bridges had thrown it on the fire. 

"That came out of my father's barn," said Hi, 
stoutly, " and the fellow that took it is a mean 
sneak, and I don't care who he is." 

" I don't see that it is any meaner to take that 
leaching-tub out of Deacon Hatch's barn than it 
is to steal old Boffin's clothes-line, or Judge Nel- 
son's chicken-coop, so there," said Jo Murch. 

As the Judge's coop had been ravished by 




Hham, he felt condemned ; but he replied, hotly, 
that there was a big difference between taking an 
old chicken-coop, only fit for kindlings, anyhow, 
and stealing a leaching-tub out of a man's barn. 
Then, suddenly remembering the mysterious noises 
which he had heard while he was trying to go to 
sleep, he exclaimed, with his small fist before Jo 
Murch's nose, " And you came in there and stole 
that tub while we were in the hay-loft. I heard 

"Yes, and mighty scared you were, too," Jo 
replied, with an unpleasant sneer. 

There were symptoms of a fight, when one of 
the sentries on the court-house steps shouted 
" Fitts ! Fitts ! " Then all the boys, in their anxiety 
for the bell, scattered to points about the meet- 
ing-house from which they could see the fate of 
Blackie, who, perceiving the lantern of the old 
sexton coming, improved the time by giving the 
bell as many and as vigorous strokes as possible. 

Grumbling and groaning to himself, the sexton 
slowly climbed the belfry stairs once more, and 
was soon on the upper deck. " Why, oh why, 
did n't I nail down that scuttle ? " groaned little 
Blackie, as, from behind his chimney, he saw the 
old man emerge upon the belfry deck. Blackie 
consoled himself with the reflection that he would 
do this the next time the coast was clear. But he 
was doomed to disappointment. Fitts, as soon as 
he had cut the line, for the second time, gave it a 
strong pull, and a sudden pull, and poor Blackie, 
not for a moment dreaming what was going to 
happen, was jerked out from behind the chimney, 
and, still holding on, across the scuttle, which had 
been left open. 

" Aha ! It 's you, is it ; you, you black limb, is 
it ? " cried Old Fitts, exultingly, as the boy came 
dimly into sight from behind the chimney. " Major 
Boffin ! There 's a burglar on your roof! " shouted 
the old man, as he tugged at the line which Blackie 
sturdily refused to let go. 

"Shame! Shame! Old Fitts !" shrieked several 
of the boys below, in their concealment. " He 's 
no burglar, and you know it." 

In the midst of the racket, Major Boffin, with a 
grim smile on his face, put his head out of the 
window, and, after shouting "Thieves ! Thieves ! " 
at the top of his voice, fired into the sky a horse- 
pistol which he kept loaded for the entertainment 
of the midnight cats that sometimes disturbed 
his slumbers. A profound silence followed this 
volley. Even Old Fitts was quiet in his belfry ; 
and Blackie, taking advantage of the lull, dropped 
the line which he had held, and softly crept down 
the roof, clutched the lightning-rod, slid to the 
ground, and made off in the darkness. 

" If I catch those pesky boys around here again 

to-night," said the angry sexton, " I '11 put a load 
of buckshot into some of 'em." 

"Never you fear," answered the Major, "you 
will never catch them. Sooner catch a lot of 
weasels." And the old man shut down his window 
with a bang. 

Fitts descended into the little loft below the 
belfry, and, though the boys waited for his appear- 
ance beneath, his lantern did not shed its beams 
again on the outside of the meeting-house. 

" He 's camping in the steeple ! " cried the boys, 
in alarm. And so he was. Determined to stop 
the ringing of the bell, and afraid to leave his post 
of duty, the old man lay down on the floor of the 
loft, secure in the knowledge that no enemy could 
scale the roof without awakening him. The boys 
gathered in a knot below, examined the ground 
and confessed that, for once, they were circum- 

It was growing toward morning. The east was 
pale with the first streaks of dawn. It had been a 
tiresome night. The great base-ball match was 
coming off on that day. The bell had been 
rung. The Nine went to bed, and Fairport was 
quiet at last. 

Chapter II. 


Between the White Bears and the Fairport 
Nine there was, in the opinion of the older people, 
a great gulf fixed. The White Bears were, for the 
most part, the sons of fishermen, 'longshoremen, 
and men who, in the expressive language of the 
place, " did chores " about town. This was the 
social gulf which separated the famous Nine and 
the White Bears. Then the boys who called 
themselves White Bears were noted for their rough 
mischief. If an unfortunate cow was found with 
her tail cut off, it was the work of a White Bear. 
And when the old revolutionary cannon which had 
stood for years, with its breech in the ground, an 
upright landmark, on the corner of Main street, 
was dug up and pitched off the end of Adams's 
wharf, everybody knew that the White Bears had 
been out on an errand of malicious mischief. The 
boys of Fairport, who were -represented by the 
famous Nine, were not goody-goody youngsters ; 
indeed, some of the older folks thought that they 
ought to be a great deal better than they were, but 
they were never accused of being ruffianly or cruel, 
or destructive ; and all these traits were justly set 
down to the credit of the White Bears. Besides 
all this, the White Bears lived in the scattered and 
dingy groups of houses at the south end of the vil- 
lage ; and this, until they took for themselves the 
name by which they were better known, gave them 
the title of the Southenders. To be a Southender 

5 68 



was to be a rough fellow, with small respect for 
law, order, or the rights of others. 

The White Bears, with all their muscle, were not 
very much better in the base-ball field than the 
Fairport Nine. They were trained, many of them, 
in the cod-fishing fleet, which used to sail to the 
Grand Banks, before the fishing business went into 
the hands of our Canadian neighbors. And, ex- 
posed as they all were to the hard life and rough 
usage of those who pick up a scanty living on the 
coast of Maine, they were as tough and rugged as 
the polar bear, whose name they took in a spirit 
of boasting and bravado. Sam Booden was their 
captain, and he was the roughest and the toughest 
of the gang. Sam had regularly '' walloped " the 
village schoolmaster, as fast as a new one came to 
town ; and, as he was as regularly turned out of 
school, his education was none of the best. He 
never staid in school any longer than to have his 
first chance at the master, and, as boys of his class 
were not often at home during the summer, his 
acquaintance with the inside of a school-house was 
very limited. 

But Sam was at home long enough to make a 
tolerable base-ball player, and at the third base he 
was perhaps the very best in all Fairport. Jake 
Coombs was the pitcher of the White Bears, and a 
first-rate pitcher he was. He had been two voyages 
as cook on a mackereling schooner, and was prob- 
ably the most quarrelsome boy in Fairport. Usu- 
ally, he had a black eye, the mark of one of his 
latest fights. Of course, all of his fingers were 
more or less out of shape. But that is the proper 
badge of an accomplished base-ball player. Eph 
Weeks was the catcher of the White Bears, and 
Joe Patchen was the first base. George Bridges, 
their second base, was the decentest boy of the 
gang. He was in full fellowship with the Fairport 
Nine, and, although he was sometimes obliged to 
do dirty work at hog-killing time (for his father 
was the town butcher) about the houses of some of 
the more favored boys of the place, he was a crony 
and a companion to many of the favorite Nine. 

As I have said, Sam Booden was the third base, 
as well as captain of the White Bears. Eph Mullett 
was their short stop, and as Eph had an unfortunate 
defect in his speech which made his words seem to 
come from his nose rather than his mouth, he was 
usually known as " Nosey " among the boys of 
Fairport. In summer time he wore a parti-colored 
tunic, or cooler, from which circumstance he was 
sometimes called " The Turkey," or " Turk," as 
it suited the fancy of his dear friends and associates. 
With Dan Morey in the left field, Joe Fitts in 
center field, and Peletiah Snelgro in right field, 
the Nine of the White Bears is complete. 

Whenever Sam Perkins met one of the White 

Bears he was wont to say, as if addressing the uni- 
verse : 

"The Fairport Nine is the Nine that I belong 
to, and I am not ashamed to own it either." 

No White Bear ever dared to take that up, as 
the saying is, and as Sam never had the luck to 
encounter more than one of the Bears when he was 
alone, he was always safe in his defiance. But 
Sam was deeply mortified when his Nine played 
what he called-a scrub game with the White Bears, 
and were consequently defeated with great dis- 
grace. For this defeat, Sam always blamed Jo 
Murch, who was playing center field that day, and 
not at first base where he usually belonged. On 
that momentous occasion, he made a muff of a 
high fly ball, far out in the left center, in the 
eighth inning, which allowed the White Bears to 
score three runs. To tell the whole truth, the 
White Bears were considered the worst enemies of 
the Fairports on the base-ball field, as they had 
defeated all the other clubs in the small towns 
roundabout, and had held the championship for 
the last two seasons, but were hard-pressed for 
this particular season by the White Bears. This 
was the reason why this game on the Fourth of 
July was so important. It was to decide the cham- 
pionship of Fairport, and of North Fairport, Pen- 
obscot, and Riversville. 

Now, every boy knows why Sam Perkins was 
anxious when he tumbled out of bed on Fourth of 
July morning, at the call of his mother. Had he 
been left to himself, he would have slept until 
noon. A boy who has got up at midnight, and 
has gone to bed again at daylight, might be rea- 
sonably sleepy at so early an hour as seven o'clock. 
But hard work was to be done. 

The White Bears had beaten the Fairports in 
the latest, or second, game for championship, it is 
true, but the first game of the series was won by 
the Fairports by a score of eight to one, a tremen- 
dous victory, to be sure. Now had come the 
momentous day when the third and decisive game 
was to be played. And when Sam looked anx- 
iously at the sky, he was troubled to notice that a 
dark cloud hung low down in the West, just over 
the old fort in which the match was to be played. 

"Just our luck," he grumbled, when he met 
his trusty lieutenant, Ned Martin, on the common, 
where he was hunting around in the ashes of last 
night's fire for a lost jack-knife. " Just our luck ! 
I '11 bet it rains to-day and spoils all our fun. Our 
fellows are all in first-rate shape. No sprained 
legs, no broken fingers, and here it comes up to 
rain, as sure as a gun. It 's too bad, so it is." 

" Oh, never mind," said the more cheerful Ned. 
"If it rains, the Bears will be as badly off as we 
are ; that 's one comfort ; wont they ? " 



" But we want to have this thing over with," 
replied Sam. " The Bears have been poking 
that last game at us ever since they beat us. But 
they sha'n't have a chance to crow over us after to- 
day, as sure as my name is Perkins," he added, 
more hopefully. "I '11 play my position at short 
stop for all it is worth, you just be sure of that 
now, Neddy, my boy," and Captain Sam Perkins 
■stretched himself, with a tremendous yawn, wishing 
that he had had a good night's rest by way of 
preparation for the day's work. 

Fairport is built on the sunny side of a Denin- 

built by the British troops in the war of the 

Once there was a brick barrack in the fort, and in 
one corner is still shown the entrance to a dungeon 
dug into the thick mass of earth, stone and tim- 
ber which forms the fort. The barrack has 
disappeared, and the inclosed space is as smooth 
and level as a ball-ground should be. Laying off 
the field against one of the angles of the earth- 
work, they had a grassy field under foot, while the 
slopes of the fort furnished seating-places for the 
spectators, as well as a screen for the catcher. It 


sula which juts out into Penobscot Bay. To the 
north and west, the land slopes sharply down to a 
little cove, known to the youth of the village 
as "the Back Cove." To the east and south, the 
land falls off more gradually to the harbor's edge, 
and on the gently falling slope is nestled the 
old town shaded with elms, horse-chestnuts 
and maples. 

On the ridge which forms the backbone of the 
promontory is the old fort, a huge, high earth- 
work, inclosing about three acres of ground, and 
Vol. VII.— 38. 

is not likely that the British commander, General 
McLean, when he built this fort, in 1779, and 
called it Fort George, after his royal master, 
George III., of England, ever thought what a serv- 
ice he was doing for the boys of Fairport. But it 
is true that no base-ball field in this or any 
other country can be compared with that which the 
British army left for generations of boys at Fairport. 
And when, on the memorable Fourth of July, the 
Fairport Nine met the White Bears for the fight 
for the championship, the old fort presented a 




brilliant sight. On the grassy slopes of the ram- 
parts, commanding a good view of the field, were 
all the nice girls of the village, some of whom had 
concealed about them the gay rosettes, made of the 
Nine's cherry-colored ribbon, with which each 
purposed to decorate a certain favorite player, in 
case all went well with the Nine of Fairport. The 
boys who were not of the Nine, but who hoped 
to be, some day, were scattered about among the 
bright groups on the slopes, or crowded together 
just outside of the limits of the field. It was a 
pretty sight and a momentous day. 

Captain Samuel Perkins placed his men thus : 
Pitcher — Ned Martin; catcher — the "lob"; first 
base — Jo Murch ; second base — Hi Hatch ; third 
base — Pat Adams ; short stop — Sam Perkins ; 
left field — Samuel Black, colored member, and 
better known as " Blackie " ; center field — Billy 
Hetherington ; right field — Bill Watson, other- 
wise known as " Chunky." The captain surveyed 
his team with mingled pride and anxiety, looked 
at the sky, which was dark with clouds, and then 
calmly tossed up the copper with the Captain of 
the White Bears, Samuel Booden, to decide which 
should go first to the bat. The toss was won by 
the proud captain of the Fairport Nine, who yelled, 
" We '11 take the field ! " 

They always thought it an advantage to go first to 
the field, and as the White Bears took up the bat, 
a smile of satisfaction ran over the faces of the 
illustrious Nine of Fairport. The Bears did not 
find it very easy to hit the skillful pitching of Ned 
Martin; and Semantha Sellers, sitting on the grassy 
rampart beside Mary Ann Martin, said, with a 
chuckle of delight, " I s'pose Pel Snelgro thinks 
he can play ball, but just see him whang the air 
every time Ned fires that ball. Ned has got the 
curve down fine, has n't he, Mary Ann ? " 

" Do hush and look at that catch," for at that 
moment Peletiah Snelgro sent a hot liner to Pat 
Adams, at third base. Pat made an extraordinary 
catch, taking it with one hand, and with a light 
spring in the air, which won him a round of ap- 
plause from the girls sitting on the slopes of the 
fort ; and even the boy spectators, outside of the 
field, murmured their approbation. Pat took off 
his cap and bowed low to the ladies in reply to this 
compliment. Jake Coombs was the next striker 
for the Bears, and he sent a foul tip behind the 
bat which struck the "lob," catcher for the Fair- 
ports, square on the nose. The "lob" doubled 
himself up in pain, and a perceptible shudder ran 
through the sympathizing crowd of girls on the 
rampart. " What a shame ! " cried Phoebe Noyes, 
who had a tender heart, and admired very much 
the rosy face and blue eyes of the "lob." But 
John stoutly declared that it was " nothing," 

although the blood dropped freely from his in- 
flamed pug-nose. Cold water was brought from, 
the spring, half of the boys of Fairport volunteer- 
ing to sop the "lob's" face, and run a cold iron 
spoon down his back, or hold his nose at the 
bridge, or do any of those things which any bright 
boy knows are sovereign remedies for the nose- 

This diversion over, Captain Sam Booden went 
to the bat. " Now look out for squalls, you stuck- 
up Fairport Niners," said Nance Grindle, with 
withering sarcasm. Nance was a Southender, and 
was "second girl" in the family of the Hether- 
ingtons, and cordially hated all aristocrats. Sure- 
enough, Booden sent a daisy-cutter toward HL 
Hatch, at second base, but Hi picked it up finely, 
and so Captain Sam Booden retired at first base, 
and the White Bears also retired without a score. 

"A goose, egg! A goose egg!" shouted the 
friends of the Fairport Nine. Captain Sam 
Perkins, too glad to speak, walked over to Hiram 
and wrung his hand in silence. It was now the 
first inning of the Fairports, and they did some 
very heavy batting, and scored five runs before 
their side was put out, three of them being home 
runs. But there were no special features of the 
game, and the girl-champions of the Fairports 
were not sorry when their friends were out once 
more. " They do so much better in the fields" 
they said, innocently. 

But the Fairport Nine had a decided lead, and 
the chances were that they would have kept it to 
the end and have won the game, but, just as the 
White Bears were going to their second inning, 
great drops of rain began to fall, and the storm 
which Captain Sam had been dreading all day was 
upon them. The girls put up their parasols and 
umbrellas, and expressed their intention to stay 
and see the game through, rain or shine. But the 
umpire, Mr. Sylvanus Tilden, of North Fairport, 
called the game, which was accordingly postponed 
until next day. " Just our luck ! " grumbled Cap- 
tain Sam, as the Nine went down the hill into- 
town. It was a dismal ending of a Fourth which 
had begun so noisily, with the pealing of bells, the 
firing of guns, and the flaming of bonfires, proph- 
esied by one of the revolutionary forefathers. 

"Just our luck!" grumbled Sam, next day,, 
when he saw that the sky was cloudless, and that 
the silvery waters of the bay reflected Nautilus 
Island, Gray's Head and Hainey's Point as if in a 
looking-glass. " Some days it rains, and then, 
again, some days it don't rain. Yesterday, just 
as we were making ready to wallop the White- 
Bears, and had a lead of 5 to o, it ups and rains, 
and so puts a stop to the game. To-day not a wet 
cloud shows its face in the sky. You look over the 




fort and you can see the whole of Brigadier's Island 
reflected in Penobscot Bay, just as if it was on the 
bottom of a new tin pan. Before this game is 
over, boys, you '11 wish a long shower would come 
and save the feelings of the bully Nine of Fairport ; 
now you see." 

" Sam is always croaking," said Blackie, who 
was always looking on the bright side of things, as 
if his spirit was much lighter than his face. But 
when Sam lost the toss and the White Bears took 
the field and their opponents went to the bat first, 
things did look a little gloomy for the Fairports. 
And when their first inning was finished without 
scoring one run to their credit, even the calm and 
stolid "lob" felt a sinking at the heart. 

"It's too bad," said pretty Alice Martin, shak- 
ing her yellow curls with emphasis. " It 's too bad 
for anything, and if I was Sam Perkins I 'd give that 
Coombs boy an awful whipping. Every time one 
of the White Bears makes a base hit, he just grins 
like a chessy-cat, and makes up a face as if to say 
that he did it all. He 's perfectly horrid ! " 

But serious business was now in hand, for the 
Bears went to the bat in high spirits. It was the 
first time that they, or any other nine, had pre- 
vented the Fairports from making one run. They 
had a right to feel pleased. " Mightily tickled," 
Sarah Judkins confidentially said they were, when 
she leaned over and whispered her opinion into 
Phcebe Noyes's sun-bonnet. 

Before the Fairports went to their places, Cap- 
tain Sam went among his forces and warned them 
that the White Bears were playing at their very 
best that day, and that if they would win it must 
be with hard work, cool heads, and, above all, no 
nonsense. The game went on rapidly to the close 
of the eighth inning, and, up to that time, the 
Fairport Nine had not been able to make a single 
run, and their score stood exactly where it did at 
the close of their first inning of the day before. 
The White Bears, however, crept up, making a 
run at a time, until, when their opponents went to 
the bat on the eighth, and the Fairports' last, in- 
ning, the score stood 5 to 5. Sam Perkins was the 
first striker, and while he was selecting his bat, his 
comrades noticed, with some surprise, that the 
White Bears had quietly changed their pitcher. 
The redoubtable Eph Mullett, otherwise "Nosey," 
and otherwise "Turkey," went to the place of 
pitcher, and Jake Coombs took the left field, while 
Dan Morey went to short stop, where "Nosey" 
had been playing. This move did not disconcert 
Sam in the least. He was one of the strongest 
hitters of his Nine, and was almost always safe. 

There was not a sound. Even the chattering 
young ladies on the slopes of the rampart were as 
quiet as so many mice. They watched the game 

with the most intense interest, and, as for their 
friends in the Nine, they did not dare to speak, 
and hardly to breathe, for fear they might lose 
some point in the style of the new pitcher. Then 
came the umpire's question: "Where will you 
have the ball ? " 

" Knee high," was Sam's steady reply, which 
could be heard by every person inside of the fort. 
Eph Mullett delivered the ball ; it went like light- 
ning. Sam did not even make a motion to strike 
at it, and his fellows, who were waiting their turn 
on the bench near by, looked at each other in 
speechless amazement. But the gallant Captain hit 
the next ball and sent it whizzing along the ground, 
and made the first base. Cheery little Blackie 
was next at the bat. " See the darky ! " scoffed 
Nance Grindle. " Thinks he is as good as a white 
man, don't he ? So stuck-up along with Billy Heth- 
erington ! Sakes alive ! What 's he at, anyhow ! " 
For Blackie made two attempts to hit the ball de- 
livered by Mullett, and in vain. 

Meantime, however, Sam Perkins had stolen to 
his second base, and Blackie, with a mighty effort, 
gave him his third base by a masterly stroke that 
sent the ball to center field. Now it was Ned Mar- 
tin's turn to distinguish himself. With two players 
on the bases, it required very delicate playing. 
Ned played cautiously until he got a ball that 
almost everybody thought would bring home the 
two men on the bases. Alas ! it went straight into 
the hands of the first base, who returned it with 
surprising dexterity to the catcher at home base, 
just in time to put out Sam Perkins, by a hair's- 

A double play for the " White Bears," two out 
on the side of the "Fairports," and not a run 
scored, — this prospect was not bright for the 
famous Nine. Fleet-footed Blackie was at second 
base, however, and Billy Hetherington, next to 
Sam Perkins the best striker of the Fairport 
Nine, was the next man at the bat. Billy was 
tall and lank, for his years, and was sometimes 
called " Crane," by way of joke. But he had an 
unerring eye, and was as cool as a cucumber under 
any and all circumstances. Billy struck the first 
ball, and Blackie was off like a deer for third base. 
But, contrary to all expectations, Billy's ball was a 
foul, and, fortunately, as it turned out, went away 
out of the catcher's reach, among the thistles which 
grew at the base of the bastion. And so Blackie 
had time to resume his position at second base 
once more. Billy's next hit was a high-flyer, and 
as his comrades saw the center fielder move back 
to get in range of the descending ball, their hearts 
almost stood still. They saw the ball go right 
through his hands, and then they breathed a long 
sigh of relief which was echoed among the very 




nicest girls on the side of the fort. Sam Perkins 
treated the spectators to a few steps of his favorite 

But the joy of the Fairports was short-lived. 
The "lob," their next batsman, sent a foul ball 
straight up over his head, and it fell plumb into 
the hands of the catcher. This ended the last 
inning of the Fairport Nine, and they had not 
made one run that day. Their only hope now was 
to "skunk" the White Bears, who were coming 
to the bat with their faces aglow with satisfaction 
and anticipated triumph. This, at least, might 
prolong the game, which could result in a tie. 

When the Fairports went to the field in the 
ninth inning, it was evident that their spirits were 
a little drooping. 

" I don't see our way out of this pickle," said 
Bilfy Hethcrington to his sable chum, as they 
passed each other on their way to their respective 

" Keep a stiff upper lip, Billy," replied his hope- 
ful crony. "I 've seen sicker cats than this get 

Billy thought to himself that, though a cat may 
have nine lives, the Fairport Nine did not have 
more than one chance in a thousand to beat the 
White Bears in this match ; and then all would be 

The sympathies of the spectators were unmis- 
takably with the Fairports, and when Pat Adams, 
at third base, took a hot ball straight from Joe 
Patchen's bat, with one hand, almost precisely 
as he had done the day before, there was a breezy 
ripple of applause all along the side of the fort 
where the girls were the thickest in a group. Dan 
Morey was their next striker. He sent a ball 
straight over to little Blackie, at left field. Blackie 
was watching the ball as it described a beautiful 
ascending curve in the air, but his quick eye had 
also marked the tall thistles on the top of the fort 
nodding in the wind, which was now rising some- 
what. He took a position a little to the right of 
the place where everybody thought the ball should 
fall. Captain Sam, at short stop, saw this and 
ground his teeth with rage, and inwardly groaned 
''he '11 make a muff! " But the colored member of 
the Nine knew what he was about. The wind took 
the ball a little to the north ; it then descended 
with a rush, and dropped directly into his tawny 
hands; and good Blackie held it like a vise, doub- 
ling himself over in his anxiety to grip it. A 
scream of delight went up from the rampart where 
the girls waved their sun-bonnets with joy. The 
Fairports winked encouragingly at each other, 
and Captain Sam muttered an apology to Blackie, 
as he was in the habit of talking to himself. The 
White Bears had not made a run yet, and they 

had two players out. The prospect was decidedly 

George Bridges was their next batsman, and he 
was always to be feared. As he stood in position, 
wearing his usual pleasant expression, but with a 
look of dogged determination on his brown face, 
everybody knew that he " meant business," as the 
Fairports were saying to themselves. If he once 
got a good blow at that ball, the chances were 
that it would go at a tremendous rate somewhere. 
Silently, Captain Sam motioned his fielders to fall 
back. The precaution was well taken. Bridges 
had a square hit at the ball, and sent it away over 
the head of Billy Hetherington at center field. 
Before he could get it and throw it to Ned Martin, 
the pitcher, George Bridges had made his third 
base. Joe Fitts was the next man to stand up 
before the pitcher of the Fairports, and to him the 
White Bears now looked for success. He must hit 
the ball so as to bring George home, and if he 
could only do this, the game was won. It was a 
thrilling crisis. A hush fell on the field. The flower- 
bed of sun-bonnets and parasols on the rampart 
and the side of the fort ceased its fluttering in 
the wind and sunshine. Even the boy friends of the 
White Bears did not speak, although they showed 
by their looks that they had confidence in Joe's 
ability to do something great. And then Jemima 
Pegg, a long-legged girl who worked in the lobster- 
packing factory, stood up and waved her bonnet, 
crying out, " Go it, Joe ! Now 's yer chance ! " 

Joe struck at the ball twice, but missed it. At 
the third attempt, however, he was more fortunate. 
He sent it whizzing through the air over to Pat 
Adams, at third base. Joe went for the first base 
as fast as his legs could carry him. George Bridges 
did the same in the direction of the home base, 
and, to the confusion and grief of the Fairports 
and their fair friends, Pat Adams muffed that ball. 
"Oh, Patsy! Patsy! How could you do so?" 
groaned Captain Sam. For that muff virtually 
lost the game, and the crisis was past. But, before 
the White Bears' third player was put out, the 
score-keepers had to allow them a home run for 
Jake Coombs, which, with Joe's one, made the 
score five to eight in favor of the White Bears, 
and the next striker was put out by a foul. 

The great match was over, and pretty Alice 
Martin, rising from her seat on the turf, said : 
" It 's too awfully mean for anything for those 
Southenders to get the pennant. But it was just 
splendid." Alice was always a little mixed in her 
ideas, but she meant that the game was splendid. 
And so thought and said a great many of the less 
personally interested spectators, as they went down 
to the village. But so did not think Captain Sam 
when he saw the umpire hand the pennant over to 




the triumphant Booden, of the White Bears. That rage, but bold little Blackie called after the depart- 

hero took it with a grin, and, waving the little strip ing victors — " You had to work for it harder than 

of red and white bunting over his head, bawled — you ever did before the mast ! So, now ! " 

"It's not so big as the 'William and Sally's' ''Hush up, Blackie," said Billy Hetherington. 

burgee, boys, but it 's our'n." "They 've won the championship, and the great 

Sam and his mates turned away in speechless match is over." 

(To be continued. J 


There lives in the land of Japan 
A very lugubrious man, 

Who sketches with toil, 

In water and oil, 
Strange scenes for the Japanese fan. 

He paints with a Chinaman's queue, 
And uses vermilion and blue ; 

He delights in large herds, 

Of long-legged birds, 
Which he makes with their bodies askew. 

He strives, with the noble intent, 
To picture each current event ; 

He often spends hours 

Over intricate flowers, 
And receives just the eighth of a cent. 





(A Decoration-day Story.) 

By Christine Chaplin Brush. 

Two little 
girls were going swiftly 
through Squire Blossom's 
yard, taking a short cut home 
from school. It was late in 
the May afternoon. The 
school had been out some 
time, and the little girls were 
hurrying along and talking 
so busily that they did not 
notice even the old white 
sheep who pushed his nose 
at them through the bars for 
his usual petting. 

One of the children was 
listening with a sympathizing 
face to the other, who wore a 
pink sun-bonnet and a blue- 
checked apron. 

" Of course, you don't 
mindj" said the little girl with 
the pink bonnet; " of course 
you don't, for your uncle had 
one arm shot off, and died, 
and you can always say he 
was in the war and was awful 
brave, and shot off ever so 
many guns, and waved flags, 
and drummed awful hard, 
and slashed his sword about, and cut things all 

" Oh, did he do all that ? " asked little Mary, 
quite elated. " I did n't know it ; who told you ?" 
" Oh, of course he did," said Sally ; " all the men 
were very brave that went from our town. Mother 
says father was too sick to go to the war, and I 
feel awful ashamed about it. My uncle went, but 
he never lost one of his fingers, even, and never 
got shot one bit ; so it's just the same as if he 'd 
never been ! " 

" I should think you 'd be glad he did n't get 
hurt," said little Mary, who could not follow Sally 
in her patriotic flight. " Perhaps your uncle 
fired and drummed just as hard as mine, and per- 

haps he shot the enemy so fast that nobody got a 
chance at him." 

" Well, I 'm real mad and ashamed, too," replied 
Sally. " Tuesday is Decoration-day, and there 
is n't one grave that 's any relation to me in all 
that grave-yard, and there is n't a name on that 
monument in Martinsville that belongs to our 
folks ! " 

But, when Sally took her seat in school the next 
morning, her face wore a cheerful and determined 
air; and at recess, when the little boys and girls 
were discussing the glories of Decoration-day, she 
joined in the conversation as freely as if she had 
owned all the soldiers in town. 

"I'm going to' walk to Martinsville and hear 
the speeches, and see the monument trimmed 
up," said a big boy. " Seven of those names be- 
long to our village. I wish I had been a soldier." 

"So do I ! " cried Sally. "Why, when I hear 
the crackers on Fourth of July, I feel awful pa- 
triotic ! Oh, I wish I had lived in the Revolution ! 
When I study about those brave women I just 
wish I had been one of them. I 'd have kept a 
little gun in my kitchen, and if I 'd seen a red-coat 
coming, I 'd have popped him off." 

The boys laughed at Sally's warlike spirit, but 
the girls were rather startled. 

" Why, Sally Barnes," said little Mary, " I never 
knew you hated folks so, before ; why, I 'd have 
taken a red-coat in, and hid him in our garret, up 
behind the old spinning-wheel and the chests. I 'd 
have tied up his shot places and taken his dinner 
to him. I would n't be so unkind to anybody." 

" I guess you would n't have done that if he 'd 
been shooting your father, would you ? " asked 
Sally, to bring the matter home. 

" Oh, but I did n't mean one that had shot 
father," said little Mary, in dismay. 

" They are going to decorate the graves in our 
village first," said the big boy who had spoken 
before. " There 's only seven, you know, and then 
they '11 all go over to Martinsville ; you girls wont, 
of course, you can't walk three miles and back." 

" I can," said Sally, "and I 'm going to, too." 

" Why, Sally ! " cried one of the big girls, " you 
need n't be so interested ; you were n't born when 
the war closed, and none of your relations died in 
it. and if they had they 'd never know whether 
you tramped over that hot, sandy road or not. 
Whose grave are you going to weep over ? " 




Sally was silent. 

" I guess she 's going to weep over my uncle's," 
said little Mary, anxious to share her blessing with 
her friend. " My uncle used to live next door to 
her house, you know." 

" I don't want to borrow anybody's relation's 
grave," said Sally, " for I 've got one of my Own, 
now. It never did belong to anybody, and I 've 
adopted it ; so I 've got a right to go to Martinsville, 
df I want to ! " 

The big boys and girls burst out laughing. 
" Whose grave is it, Sally?" they asked. 

"It 's John Anderson's," said the little girl, "and it 
does n't belong to any of you, for I asked my father, 
and he said it did n't. He was a Swede, and 
worked for the doctor, and went to the war, and 
came back sick and died, and did n't belong in this 
town. So I said I 'd have him for my soldier, and 
my father says I can." 

Everything Sally took hold of was done thor- 
oughly. "I'd rather have one hour of Sally's 
work than three of Katy's," her mother used to 

The family, when she told them of "her grave," 
only laughed ; they were used to " Sally's ways." 

Early on Decoration-day morning, Sally went to 
the grave-yard, which was lying fresh and green in 
the morning sun. It was a place where one might 
like to rest after a sad and weary life. It lay on a 
little rise of ground, and was surrounded by a low 
stone wall, tinted by lichens in green and gold. 

It was uncarcd for, except as Nature tended it. 
The blackberry-vines ran at will over the low 
stones, the bees hummed in the long grasses, 
which waved, and blossomed, and died, untouched 
by the scythe. 

Violets bloomed thickly in the spring-time, and 
the daisies bent and swayed in the sweet summer 
air. Far off lay the blue sea. Quiet was always 
there, and rest belonged to the place. 

It looked very bright on this May morning; and 
Sally, in her pink sun-bonnet, stepped resolutely 
along until she came to " her grave." She cut the 
■grass carefully from it with a large pair of scissors, 
and heaped the mound with flowers. 

When the little procession turned into the yard, 
the people were all surprised to see the grave of 
the poor Swede, who had lived for so short a time 
among them, carefully trimmed and decorated. 

After the simple ceremony was over, the people 
separated, most of them returning to their homes. 
Sally, however, followed the men and boys who 
were going to Martinsville. 

The minister and his wife rode in a buggy. 
When they saw Sally trudging along in the hot 
sun, they offered to tuck her in between them, and 
she was very glad to accept the invitation. 

" Why were you taking this long walk, my 
dear?" asked Mr. Raymond. 

" I want to hear the speeches, and go to Decora- 
tion-day, and see the monuments. Besides," said 
Sally, " I want to hear what they are going to say 
about John Anderson." 

" Who is John Anderson? " asked the minister. 
" Do you mean Major Anderson of Sumter? " 

" I don't know, sir, — I mean a man who died in 
the war, for us. He was a Swede, and need n't 
have gone to our war at all, only he was so polite," 
Sally replied. 

"I remember the poor fellow, now; he came 
here as a sailor on one of our ships, and stayed — 
worked on the doctor's farm. He was an honest, 
hard-working man ; he little thought he had come 
among us only to find a grave." 

"Why did n't they have him buried near his 
relations ? " asked Sally. 

" No one knew, I suppose, where his friends 

" And perhaps," said Sally, " his mother is look- 
ing out for him all the time, and thinks he has for- 
gotten her," and tears came into her large gray 

Sally told Mrs. Raymond about adopting the 
grave, and the lady was much amused and 

When they came into Martinsville, the scene was 
quite exciting to the little girl. 

The streets were filled with people, and, on the 
little square where the monument stood, the band 
was playing slow and mournful music. 

Sally's heart thrilled with the sound. 

Mr. Raymond tied his horse to a tree near the 
square, and then they walked on to the "green," 
to be within hearing of the speakers. 

Sally listened attentively, as one after another 
named the brave fellows who had given their lives 
for their country. 

When Squire Barnard rose, Sally never took her 
eyes from him ; he was from her village, and would 
speak of the soldiers who belonged there. 

He named and praised one and another, briefly, 
and then sat down ; he never mentioned John An- 
derson ! Sally's cheeks grew red, — she pulled Mr. 
Raymond's sleeve. 

" I did n't think Mr. Barnard was so unkind and 
mean," she whispered ; "he never said one single 
word about John Anderson ; and I '11 never play 
with his little girl again ! When I 'm big enough, 
I '11 carve a head-stone for my soldier." 

A gentleman now spoke to Mr. Raymond, and' 
the two walked off together toward the platform. 
The minister rose to say a few words. 

He said he wanted to tell a little story. So he 
told them of Sally's adopted grave, and spoke very 




tenderly of the poor stranger who had cast his lot among 
them ; and of the little girl who wished to keep his 
memory fresh, and who had felt hurt that the Squire 
had forgotten to mention him. 

" Let 's see the little girl," said a voice; and before 
Sally knew where she was, a man had lifted her on to 
the platform. She looked upon the crowd; and then 
she held down her head, the tears in her eyes. The 
people all laughed. 

" I propose," said Mr. Raymond, " that we give money 
enough to this little wom- 
an, to buy a simple head- 
stone for the grave of John 
Anderson. " 

The people clapped 
their hands, and a man 
passed his hat around 
among the crowd. Pen- 

nies rattled, and bits of paper flut- 
tered into it; and soon he came to- 
the platform, and told Sally to hold 
out her apron. It was quite heavy 
with pennies, and there were dollar 
bills among them ! 

Sally smiled and quite forgot her- 
self, thinking of the people's kindness. 
"Oh, thank you," she said, her eyes sparkling. And then she added, suddenly, in a grateful tone 
of voice : " I '11 put some flowers on your monument the next time we ride over." 

Then everybody clapped their hands, and stamped and laughed ; and Sally was helped down and 
took her seat again by Mrs. Raymond. 





The Squire said the speakers ought to ride home 
together ; so he put Sally into his carriage, which 
was lined with blue cloth, and had a nice stuffed 
back, and springs in the seat. 

Sally's mother was quite surprised to see her 
little girl getting out of Squire Barnard's carriage. 
She had worried about her all day, for she never 
dreamed that she really meant to go all the way to 

Sally told the family all about her day, and how 
she had been on the platform ; and she showed the 
money ; and her father, when he had heard all, 
said he should never worry about that girl, — she 
always fell feet down ! 

The story of Sally's patriotic zeal soon spread 
around the firesides of the county, and several 
gentlemen and ladies, who were not present at 
the celebration, sent her money to help in buying 
the head-stone. 

When she had thirty dollars, Sally began to 
grow impatient to have the work done. So she 
dressed herself very neatly one afternoon, and 
called on Mrs. Squire Barnard. The lady smiled 
kindly on her, and said: 

" Oh, this is the little girl who made the speech 
at Martinsville ! I am glad to see you again, dear. 
Can I do anything for you ? " 

"Yes, ma'am," replied Sally; "I came to ask 
you if you would take your nice carriage some day 
and go shopping with Mrs. Raymond and me, for 
a head-stone for my soldier. I don't want to buy 
just any one that happens to be' left over at the 

Mrs. Barnard said she was going on Monday to 
the county town, where there were two or three 
marble-yards, and that she would be very happy 
to take Mrs. Raymond and Sally with her in the 

That was a proud and happy day when the little 
girl climbed into the fine carriage and took her 
seat opposite the two ladies. 

But when they reached the marble-yard, Sally 
was very much disappointed not to find a stone 
all ready and waiting for her, with drums and 
fifes, and swords and guns carved on it. 

Mrs. Raymond said that, as there was no more 
war where her good soldier had gone, some em- 
blem of peace would be better. 

Sally then turned her attention to the doves and 
lambs she saw on head-stones, but, after some 
effort, the ladies diverted her from these ; and 
soon they all agreed on a beautiful white marble 

The price of this was thirty-five dollars ; but 
when the owner heard the story of Sally's soldier, 
he said he would sell it for thirty. 

If ever you should visit Sally's town, you would 
see a well-kept grave in the church-yard, with a 
scroll at its head, on which is carved in bold relief: 

" John Anderson, 

A Native of Sweden, 

Aged 28 Years." 

And beneath this a grateful acknowledgment of 
the sacrifice the young stranger had made for union, 
justice and liberty among us. 


A. D. I695. 


THIS little old man lived all alone, 
And he was a man of sorrow ; 

For, if the weather was fair to-day, 
He was sure 't would rain to-morrow. 

A. D. 1695. 
By Mrs. D. G. Bacon. 

Almost all boys and girls who read this paper 
will have either read or studied at school some 
history of England, and will remember that while 
they can recall the names of King John, King 
Stephen, Kings Edward, Henry, and many others, 
and can think, too, of queens who have reigned 
alone, it is only in one reign that the names of 
both king and queen are always mentioned to- 
gether — namely, those of William and Mary. 

Now, after the good queen Mary's death, and 
while William was reigning sadly alone, there was 
something done of great importance in the king- 
dom, — not always told in small histories, — which 
may be of interest to our young readers, and well 
worth remembering. This event of importance 
was a new method of coining money. Before this 
time, for centuries, money had been shaped in 
just one rude way. The metal, after being pre- 
pared of a certain thickness, was marked and cut 
by hand with shears into pieces ; these were then 

hammered as nearly round as possible, the pieces 
having around them no rim nor inscription such 
as we are used to seeing on coined money now. 
Made in this unskillful way, the coins in use could 
not be of exactly the same weight and value, and 
it was found to be very easy to clip off little por- 
tions of them, without very much reducing their 
value or changing their appearance. These clip- 
pings, although very small, when collected from 
many pieces and melted together, were found to 
be of much value. But in time, the clipped coins, 
after passing through the hands of many dishonest 
persons, who each took a little paring, became 
so much lessened in size that a shilling was in 
weight worth no more than a sixpence or even 
less, and all pieces became reduced in the same 

Some boy interested in trading may ask, " If a 
clipped shilling passed for a shilling, and would 
buy a shilling's worth of any thing, what difference 

1 695. 


did it make ? " It made this difference : Shillings 
and crowns being of all sizes, those who labored 
for money demanded to be paid in good-sized 
pieces, and there were continual wranglings and 
disputings between the laborer and his employer, 
and between buyer and seller, as to what sort of 
money should be received in payment. These 
arguments took much time, gave rise to ill feeling, 
and sometimes ended in fights and bloodshed. 
Then, if money were to be sent to France or any 
foreign country, where its value must be decided 
according to its weight, fifty pounds, face value, in 
clipped English money would be found to be 
worth, perhaps, no more than twenty pounds. 

To remedy this very unhappy state of affairs, it 
was thought best that the government should have 
new money coined, hoping that it would in a short 
time drive out the old altogether. So, in 1558, a mill 
was set up in the Tower, by which means the new 
pieces were shaped of uniform size, each with a 
raised rim and cross-fluted edge, so that it could 
not be clipped without showing the cut. Coin from 
the new mill was called "milled" money, and people 
liked it, for it was the best then coined in Europe. 
The horse in the Tower went round and round 
(for machinery then was not much like ours), and 
heaps of bright new pieces were continually being 
made. However, very little of the new coinage 
was in circulation, and dishonest persons still grew 
rich from the clippings of the old coins, and the 
same quarreling and dissatisfaction existed. The 
new money was either hoarded or sent out of the 
country, — the poor coins still passed from hand to 
hand in trade. 

Then very severe laws were made to punish 
those who should be found guilty of mutilating the 
money. The offense was punished with as much 
severity as counterfeiting. Some persons proved 
to have clipped money were hanged, and one 
woman, we are told, was burned alive. Still, the 
"business was so profitable that even these severe 
laws could not check it, and the wisest men in the 
kingdom tried to find some better plan. 

This was what was done. Good men thought 
that the government ought to make good the loss 
on the clipped money to each person who should 
have it in his possession. If a poor man should 
have saved a hundred pounds, they said, and a law 
were to be passed that each individual must give 
up his money to be melted down and coined again, 
this poor man would receive for his one hundred 
perhaps only forty or fifty pounds in exchange. So 

it was resolved to call in after a certain day all the 
old money and pay its full face value in exchange. 
To do this, twelve hundred thousand pounds 
would be needed, and the next question was how 
the government could raise so large a sum. 

It was decided at last to put a new tax upon the 
people. The inmates of every house were re- 
quired to pay a certain tax upon each window in 
the house. This was called the window-tax. 

Then many furnaces were employed 10 melt the 
old money and make it into ingots. These were 
made into milled money in the Tower, and after a 
certain day in the year A. D. 1695, none of the 
old clipped money could be legally used. Finally, 
then, this great evil, which had lasted a very long 
time, was cured. 

The two double pictures represent a clipped coin 
and a milled coin, both faces of each. The clipped 
coin is an unusually well-preserved specimen, and 
is a very rare English shilling, minted in 1549, 
during the reign of Edward VI. Besides showing 
the marks of clippings, it is of interest as being an 
example of the first appearance of a date upon 
English money. The milled coin is an English 
shilling of the reign of Charles II., and was minted 
in 1663, two years before the Great Plague. The 
third picture represents a coin lying flat, and 
shows the milling, or cross-fluting, upon the edge. 
The specimens from which these pictures were 
taken were kindly loaned to St. Nicholas by 
Gaston L. Feuardent, Esquire, of New York. 

5 8o 




By Edgar Fawcett. 

rp c 

\>PSYTURVY had lived 
all his life in a 
great old - fashioned 
house, not far from 
the sea. He was only 
eight years old, and 
he had big, musing 
blue eyes, and airy yel- 
low hair, that seemed 
to hold the flash of a 
buttercup in it. His 
father and mother 
were both very fond 
of him, and very kind 
to him ; but often, 
when the neighbors 
admired his lovely looks, both parents would 
shake their heads sadly, and say : " Oh, yes, but 
he is always getting everything wrong." 

And he was. Yet in his lessons and his daily 
life he made mistakes, not from stupidity, but 
from absent-mindedness. He was a dreamer. 
Everybody, who knew him well, agreed that if he 
would only stop falling asleep and dreaming with 
his eyes wide open, he would be a clever child, 
and a shining credit to those whom his grotesque 
errors now sorely tried. As might be supposed, 
in a little boy of his temperament, he was very 
fond of fairy-tales. He was never tired of reading 
about the marvels which they narrated, and he 
knew a number of them by heart. These he 
would recite to himself while he walked along the 
pleasant pastoral roads. They were an immense 
comfort to poor Topsyturvy, these quaint, fan- 
tastic stories. Just to murmur them aloud as he 
did would soothe him wonderfully after the tor- 
ments of school-hours. " I suppose I like them," 
he would say, "because the people who are in 
them are all queer, just as I am. Only, I wish 
that I could manage to find a few more books of 

At first, Topsyturvy's parents encouraged his 
love of fairy-tales ; there seemed no harm in such 
a taste, and it was certainly better than the lawless 
pranks of most boys. But by degrees the good 
people began to suspect that this fanciful reading 
only made their son more self-forgetful and pecul- 
iar. At length an awful edict went forth. Topsy- 
turvy was to read no more fairy-tales. The little 
book-case in a corner of the sitting-room, that 
held his favorites, was mercilessly locked. Poor 

Topsyturvy gazed at the gilded scroll-work on 
some of their backs till his eyes grew dim. He 
felt as if his heart had been taken from his breast 
and shut behind those cruel glass panes. " It 's 
no comfort to look at them," he said, woefully, 
one afternoon ; "they only make me feel all the 
more that I 've lost them." 

He went out and rambled along a road that 
swept away past the homestead in which he lived, 
frequented by few vehicles, and leading straight 
toward the sea. It was now September, and the 
margins of the road were gay with jungles of blos- 
soming golden-rod, or richly purple with the 
feathery blooms of asters. The afternoon light 
gave a kind of silvery-blue glitter to the sky, and 
the fresh Autumn breeze had the least hint of win- 
ter in its soft keenness. A creeper wound about 
the trunk of a somber cedar had begun to burn 
with vivid . scarlet tints. Already the calm splen- 
dor of the sea, behind black overhanging crags, 
had broken upon Topsyturvy's sight. He loved 
the sea dearly. The melodies of its incoming or 
outgoing tides had always been fascinatingly sweet 
to him. Not far away there was a sort of rocky 
bluff, with a cavernous hole in it, whose edges the 
waters had draped years ago in beaded lichens. 
From this rough alcove, when the tide was low, 
Topsyturvy liked to watch the spacious grandeur 
of the sea, while seated on a certain sun-dried 
ledge. He clambered up into the ledge now, and 
let his eyes roam across the silent, measureless 
expanse. A few sails gleamed here and there, 
faint as the white wings of far-away gulls. Pres- 
ently he turned his sight toward the interior of the 
cave, leaning his bushy gold head against the cool, 
firm wall of rock. He was longing for one of the 
fairy-tale books. He had so often read them 
before, just in this very spot ! The place seemed 
thronged with the people whom he loved, and 
whose lives and fortunes he had read about with 
such affectionate wonderment. A strange idea 
entered his sad, distressed brain. 

"They say that I get everything wrong," he 
sighed, wistfully * * * " I hope I have n't 
made any mistakes about the stories * * * I 
hope I understood those all right * * * " 

It seemed to him only a very little while after- 
ward that the interior of the cave grew full of a 
pale, doubtful light, as though the earliest glimmer 
of morning were filling it. His eyes were still 
turned away from the sea, but he did not change 



his posture. He was not at all frightened. It 
occurred to him that he somehow ought to be, and 
yet he was not. 

He could no longer recognize the spot where he 
had seated himself. The swarthy sea-weeds had 
all faded away. He seemed surrounded with a 
calm, whitish mist, such as he had seen clothe the 
shore on foggy days, when the sun had touched all 
the fleecy, vaporous masses with a sweet, dull glory. 
By and by the mist parted very slowly, and he per- 
ceived several obscure, confused forms. For some 
time he could make none of them out at all dis- 
tinctly. But by degrees one of them became very 
plain to him. 

It was a beautiful, princely figure, clad in a 
doublet of velvet that glistened with gems. It had 
on a cap from which curved a long white feather, 
that partly shadowed the handsome, delicate face. 

" Oh, dear," murmured Topsyturvy, admir- 
ingly, " how splendid you are ! Who can you be ?" 

The vision gave a light, musical laugh. "I?" 
he said. " Oh, I am the person whom you have 
always thought Cinderella's prince. But you were 
very much mistaken. You are forever getting 
things wrong, you know. / marry a' poor, ignorant 
little creature who constantly sat among the cinders ! 
Not a bit of it ! " 

Another laugh, in a very feminine voice, sounded 
immediately afterward. A beautiful lady, in a bro- 
caded dress and with powdered hair rolled high off 
her blooming face, stood at the Prince's side. But 
her lip had a proud curl, and in her white, jeweled 
neck was the haughty arch that we see in a sailing 
swan's. Somehow, Topsyturvy knew this lady 
the moment that he looked upon her. He felt 
sure that she was one of Cinderella's wicked sisters. 

"Yes," cried the brilliant creature, suddenly 
spreading out an immense fan, that was almost the 
size of a peacock's tail, and painted over with pink 
cherubs firing roses at one another — "oh, yes, 
everybody knows that Topsyturvy is all the time 
getting things wrong. The slipper fitted me per- 
fectly. See there ! " 

And she held out the daintiest and neatest of feet, 
on which sparkled a small glass slipper. 

Topsyturvy felt like uttering a shout of aston- 
ishment ; perhaps he would have done so if a very 
sad voice, and a very sad face as well, had not both 
quickly claimed his attention. And now Cinderella 
herself stood before him, with a wan, tired hook, 
and dark, mournful eyes. She had silky flaxen 
hair, but this, like her wretched, ragged garments, 
bore thick powdery traces of the cinders among 
which she had dwelt so long. 

"That lady is quite right," murmured Cin- 
derella, looking straight at Topsyturvy with her 
deep, melancholy eyes. " You are always getting 

things wrong, remember. My sisters just went to 
the ball without me, and that was the end of it. I 
staid at home and sat in the cinders, as I shall no 
doubt have to do until my other sister gets married — 
which I hope will be soon. Nobody knows who 
dropped the glass slipper on the ball-room floor. 
It is said that there were several foreign princesses 
there, that night, with whom our Prince danced, 
but he was certainly more attentive to my sister 
than to anybody else. And the next morning, 
when he appeared with the slipper, he knew per- 
fectly well that it would fit her ; he had seen her 
foot before ; he recollected how pretty and small 
it was." 

The low, dreary voice in which she spoke, died 
slowly away. And then Cinderella's form died 
away with it, and that of the Prince and the fine, 
cruel sister likewise. Once more it seemed to 
Topsyturvy that the cave was filled with mist. 
But though the visions had vanished, the impres- 
sion left on their observer was still a strong one. 

"I am so sorry for poor Cinderella," lamented 
Topsyturvy. " Perhaps I may be always getting 
things wrong, but it would have been a great deal 
better, I am very sure, if the whole affair had been 
managed my way instead of hers ! " 

Just as he finished these words, it seemed to him 
that some strange power lifted him gently upon 
his feet, and that he was borne along for quite a 
distance without walking a step. And now, as if 
magically conjured up from nowhere, a high, 
dense, thorny hedge rose before him. Its prickly 
sharpness, mingled with the close-growing leafage, 
looked picturesque enough, but it nevertheless 
made Topsyturvy think, with a little shiver, what a 
very hard time any one would have who might 
attempt to scramble through it. There was a 
door, however, or a vine-girt opening that resem- 
bled one, and beside this sat a queer, sleepy old 
man, in a dull, wine-colored jerkin and a faded 
taffetas cap. He looked up drowsily as Topsy- 
turvy drew near. He wore his gray beard cut in 
a peaked form, and the toes of his shoes came to 
a sharp point, and fell a little sideways because of 
their limp length. 

"Oh," he said, seeing who had arrived, "it's 
only you." 

And he lowered his old eyes toward the ground 

" Were you expecting anybody else ? " asked 

The old man looked up once more. This time 
he gave his bony shoulders an impatient shrug. 

" Oh, I suppose the Prince will come, one of 
these days. They say that he will. It 's been 
over five hundred years now since he was expected. 
My father watched here before me, and my grand- 




father, and my grandfather's father, and so back 
for many generations." 

A light began to break in upon Topsyturvy. 

" Oh," he said, softly, "this door leads to " 

"The Sleeping Palace," said the old man. Then 
he looked at Topsyturvy a little keenly out of his 
dreamy eyes. "I dare say you thought it had 
waked up long ago. But then, you know, you 
are always getting things wrong." 

" Yes," said Topsyturvy, ruefully, " I am sorry 
to say that I am." 

"You can go in, if you please," said the old 
man, staring down at his pointed shoes, " and see 
for yourself." 

Topsyturvy felt himself gently borne through 
the leafy aperture. He stood presently in what 
seemed to him the court-yard of a magnificent 
marble palace. But the marble was all sallow and 
stained with time, and faint films of velvety moss 
clung to it here and there in greenish patches. 
An immense flight of steps led upward to a vast 
colonnaded balcony, and beyond this rose a front 
of spacious windows, all overhung by thick masses 
of sculpture, in which he saw griffins' heads jut- 
ting forth in bold relief. Across the balcony 
hung great embroidered banners of silk and satin, 
that must have been gorgeous in their day, but 
were now tarnished and tattered. Along the 
stately stairs lay numerous forms of pages and 
vassals, some brawny, grown men, and some slen- 
der, pretty boys, with curly golden heads. But 
each form wore the listless apathy of deep slumber, 
and every face among them had its eyes tightly 
shut. Topsyturvy had never before been in so 
still a place. The silence was perfectly breathless. 
High grass had grown through the crevices of the 
court-yard flags, and from the big carved urns that 
flanked the majestic portico, rank growths of 
untended flowers trailed in tangled festoons, 
making the air heavy with their perfumes. One 
of the little pages was half smothered by a profu- 
sion of ivy that had pushed itself through the stony 
balustrade, and wrapped him in its dark luxuri- 

Half of his own accord, and half because some 
hidden force still urged him, Topsyturvy mounted 
the lordly steps. He trod very softly, as though 
afraid to rouse the sleepers. But none of them 
stirred. At length he passed along the broad bal- 
cony, and entered a superb archway that led through 
an enormous hall. Here, at various intervals apart, 
sat men in rusty armor, but their helmeted heads 
had fallen sideways, and though their mighty hands 
still grasped tall halberds in slanting positions, all 
were fast asleep. Presently Topsyturvy found 
himself in a new apartment, and now his blue eyes 
opened very wide indeed with wonder. 

The room was hung with many mouldering 
tapestries, where gleamed dim shapes of huntsmen, 
with leaping hounds at their sides, and sometimes 
a lady on horseback, with a hawk fluttering upward 
from her wrist. But in the chamber itself was a 
raised throne, and here, on a huge chair that seemed 
made of dragons, all twisted together, sat a ven- 
erable figure, with a high golden crown and a 
flowing white beard that swept nearly to the floor. 
This was too plainly the King, but a full, mellow 
snore, regular as the strokes of a clock, told that 
he, too, was sleeping. At his side stood a page, 
with drooped head, also asleep, but holding in one 
hand a burnished flagon, and in the other a goblet. 
The King had put forth his own hand, as if in act 
to receive the goblet, but his outstretched fingers 
lay drooped upon the gilded frame-work of the 
chair. All about him stood lords and retainers, 
but upon each had sunk the same benumbing spell. 

After this, Topsyturvy wandered about the whole 
palace, seeing many strange sights. In one room 
he found a gray-haired lady, whose moth-eaten 
robe clung round her with brittle dryness. She 
tended a skein toward a young girl who had been 
arrested by sleep, like herself, while in act of 
unwinding it. But across the skein was woven a 
heavy brown cobweb, in which even the crafty 
spiders that had wrought it did not stir. Then 
again he found a dog, in act to bark at an elderly 
dame, who held a silver-mounted staff in air; but 
the dog and the old woman were alike mute in 
slumber. * * * And so on, through many 
separate chambers, till at last, in a remote portion 
of the palace, Topsyturvy reached the end of his 
curious journey. 

Here the light came through a large oriel window, 
and struck full upon a couch, whose coverlet had 
once been some costly purple fabric, sown with stars 
and lilies ; but although this rare cloth was now 
dull and raveled, she whose form it overspread 
almost dazzled you with her loveliness. Slumber 
had given a damask tint to her cheeks, like that 
which a peach will wear on the side that has been 
turned nearest to the sun ; and her lips, half un- 
closed, had the curl of rose-petals. Her dark hair 
fell in plenteous folds about the pillow, for though a 
jeweled net had once confined it, the meshes had 
rotted apart and loosened their glossy burden. 
This was the Sleeping Beauty. Topsyturvy knew 
her the moment his gaze fell upon her. 

Grouped about the couch of the Princess were 
many slumbering damsels, some who stood upright, 
others who reclined in languid attitudes. A few 
had lutes in their laps, but the lute-strings had 
quite shriveled away. One lady had her white 
throat stretched out like a bird when it sings, and 
her mouth plainly parted; her amber tresses 




and pure, saint-like face seemed to tell you how 
sweet the song might have been, hundreds of years 
ago ! Another damsel had been reading from 
some sort of volume with fretted golden clasps, 
but all the leaves of the book had fallen to dust ; 
only a single shred of one yet lingered beneath 
her sightless look. Topsyturvy leaned over her 
shoulder, and glanced down at it ; only one line 
remained there, and this somehow seemed like a 
line of poetry ; but the language was now forgotten, 
even by the wisest men ! 

As Topsyturvy gazed on the sleeping Princess, 
a pitiful murmur left him. " I may be always 
getting things wrong," he said, touching a lock of 
her dark, coiling hair, "but it surely would have 
been better if the Prince had come and waked you 
up. What if / kiss her ! " he whispered to him- 
self; and then he bent forward and pressed his 
lips against the Princess's cheek. He felt his heart 
beat frightenedly all the while. He would have 
liked to put his arms about her neck, just as he did 
every night and morning with his dear mother; 
only she looked too grand and queenly for that. 
But Topsyturvy was not the Prince whose kiss 
must awake her. And so she still slept on. And 
then, soon afterward, the damsels' forms grew quite 
dim, and the whole chamber faded away. A pale 
mist once more enveloped Topsyturvy ; the en- 
chanted palace and all its inmates had mysteriously 

And now, while Topsyturvy marveled over all 
the strange and sad things that he had seen, a 
tower rose up out of the mist, built of gray, rugged 
stone; and on the top of this tower stood a pale 
lady, who wrung her hands, and wailed in heart- 
broken tones. 

" Dear, dear ! " said Topsyturvy ; " you seem 
in great trouble. Who are you?" 

Then the lady turned her tearful look upon him. 

" Don't you know me?" she moaned. "I am 1 
the sister of poor Fatima. I " 

" Oh, I know. You 're Sister Anne," said 

Now, of all his favorite stories, Topsyturvy had 
always loved "Bluebeard" the best. It was his 
special treasure — the apple of his eye. He felt his 
cheeks flushing hotly as an unhappy thought 
struck him. 

"Yes," answered the lady, still wringing her 
hands, " I am Sister Anne ; true enough." 

" Then why are you so sorrowful?" asked Top- 
syturvy. " I thought " 

" Oh," interrupted the lady, petulantly, " you 
are always getting things wrong, you know. Do 
you remember why my poor sister sent me to the 
roof of this tower? " 

" Yes, indeed ! It was to watch for the brothers 
who came and saved her from Bluebeard." 

There was a little silence. The big tears were 
running down Sister Anne's cheeks. 

" You 're always getting things wrong, Topsy- 
turvy," she began, in a broken voice. 

But here a wild, mournful cry cut short her 
further words. 

"Oh, don't tell me that the brothers did n't 
come at all ! " exclaimed Topsyturvy, despair- 
ingly. "I know I get everything wrong, but 
don't tell me I 've made that mistake ! Don't tell 
me that poor, sweet Fatima has been killed.! " 

But the loudness of Topsyturvy's own cry 
awoke him. And there he sat, alone in the cave, 
above the tawny, glistening sea-weeds, while the 
risen tide plashed against the crags below, and the 
darkening water had turned rosy with twilight. 

It had all proved a dream, and Topsyturvy 
sighed a great sigh of relief to find it so. There 
was such comfort in thinking that for once, after 
all, he had not been " getting things wrong ! " 




By Margaret Vandegrift. 

(A prose story in rhyme. ) 

I SUPPOSE they heard 
the reading-lesson 
Which their older 
brother read that 

For I was not asked to 
tell them " Some- 
New and funny, Mam- 
ma, to play." 

But when I happened into the nursery, 
Both were reclining in regal state, 

By a table furnished with two bananas, 
And a vast amount of gilt-paper plate. 

Johnny was looking anxiously upward, 
But May, apparently quite at ease, 

Announced, from a shawl and two sofa-pillows, 
" We are Mr. and Mrs. Damocles ! " 

And I never, certainly, had encountered 

Such a sword as hung above Johnny's head ; 

It was six feet long, and swayed, suspended 
From a cap-pin, by a single thread. 

I must admit the horror was lessened — 

Though it seems too bad their romance to spoil — 

By the fact that the pasteboard showed in places, 
Through its lavish covering of tin-foil ! 

Johnny and May were dressed in togas, 

Each composed of a single sheet, 
Draped in a highly classic manner, 

And pasteboard sandals adorned their feet. 

I took my work to a distant window, 
And began to sew at a rapid rate, 

And the revelers, not at all embarrassed, 
Went on with the banquet in all their state.. 

i88o. ] 



"My dear, will you have a piece of peacock?" 

Said Mrs. Damocles, tenderly. 
His Highness, groaning deeply, answered: 
"There's no use offering peacock to me! 

A light breeze wandered in at the window, 
And swayed the sword on its single thread ; 

The treacherous cap-pin left the ceiling, 

And down came the sword on Damocles' head. 

'■ Do you think I can ever enjoy my dinner, 
When that old sword may drop any minute?' 

Said Mrs. D., in her gentlest accents: 

"Do take some pudding, there 's raisins in it ! ' 

I laughed at myself for being startled, 
And May gave a horrified little squeak, 

But Damocles, as became his station, 
And heroic soul, was first to speak. 

And Damocles made heroic answer, 

" Well, give me some peacock, and pudding, 
and all ! 
1 s'pose I might as well eat my dinner, 

If that old thing is going to fall ! " 

He eyed the sword with contempt and anger, 
Then — " I don't even know where the old 
thing hit ! 

I '11 not play Damocles any longer — 
Why, it didn't hurt me a single bit ! " 

Vol. VII.— 39 

5 86 




By Susan Anna Brown. 

Y almost all the civilized 
world, the name of Flor- 
, ence Nightingale is spoken 
with love and admira- 
tion. Any suggestions 
upon the care of the 
sick, cannot begin better 
than by her story, which 
always brings to every 
one who hears it a thrill 
of longing to do some- 
thing great and good for suffer- 
ing humanity. 

Many girls think that all they 
lack is the opportunity, and if 
they only had the chance, they 
could win the love and rever- 
ence of thousands of their fellow-beings just as 
she did ; but no one can start out of an aimless, use- 
less life into a heroic one. The beginning of the path 
of glory is narrow and difficult, and often very dull. 
Florence Nightingale had been nursing among 
the poor tenants on her father's estate, for many 
years before the Crimean war began ; so that she 
was all ready for the opportunity when it came. 
When, in that fearful time, soldiers were dying by 
thousands for want of proper care, England, at 
last, was aroused to a sense of her own responsi- 
bility in the matter, and it was decided to send 
nurses. Mr. Herbert, the Secretary of War, who 
had charge of the expedition, knew that he could 
never send a band of women to that foreign land 
to care for the soldiers, unless some one woman 
could be found who understood the whole matter, 
and could take charge of the entire company. 
There was no time to train a person for this posi- 
tion. She must be found, all ready for the work. 
He remembered that, in Derbyshire, there was a 
woman who had been working among the poor in 
their own homes, and had visited hospitals and 
studied the art of nursing for years. Who could 
doubt that she would undertake the great charge 
of carrying help and comfort to the dying soldiers? 
He wrote and asked her, and his letter crossed, on 
its way, one from her, offering her services as an 
army nurse. So this company of brave women 
started, with Miss Nightingale at their head. When 
they reached the seat of war, they found such sick- 
ness and suffering as they had never dreamed of 
finding. No " Sanitary Commission " had poured 
in boxes of supplies, as in our late war. The hos- 

pitals were dirty and comfortless, and, even when 
food was abundant, the men often suffered, because 
there was no one whose business it was to see that 
it was given to them. An order had to pass 
through so many different officers, that the men 
might die before they could get what they needed. 
On one occasion, soon after the nurses arrived, 
the sick were suffering for the want of something 
which was locked up among the stores from Eng- 
land. No one could get it until the proper officer 
came. '.' I must have it now," said Miss Nightin- 
gale. " You cannot, until you have a proper per- 
mit," said the guard. She said no more, but 
simply called some Turks to help her, and went 
straight to the building where the stores were kept. 
" Knock the door down," said this resolute woman ; 
and down went the door. She took what was 
needed, and went back to the hospital. After 
that, the officers knew that though most scru- 
pulous in obeying necessary orders, she was not 
one who would sit still and let men die, while wait- 
ing until a regular form had been gone through. 

You all know the story of how the soldiers loved 
her, "the lady with the lamp," and how they 
turned to kiss her shadow, as it fell upon their pil- 
lows ; and how, when she came back to England, 
she met the gratitude of the nation ; the Queen 
herself sending her a beautiful locket, blazing with 
gems, with "Blessed are the merciful" upon it, 
and underneath, the word "Crimea." Her coun- 
trymen desired to offer her some testimonial of 
their gratitude, and a fund was raised for that pur- 
pose, but Florence Nightingale declined any per- 
sonal reward for her labors, and the money was 
devoted to the founding of an institution for 
training nurses. 

One heroine is sure to make others. When our 
war came, hundreds of women, remembering what 
she had done, were ready to give their time and 
strength to the work of nursing the sick and 
wounded. Day and night they toiled, and it was 
not all bathing aching heads, nor reading aloud and 
writing letters for the soldiers ; there were dread- 
ful wounds to be dressed, and tiresome rubbings, 
and wearisome watchings. But they learned that 
even the most distasteful details may be endured, 
if one only has unselfishness and courage. It is to 
be hoped that none of the readers of ST. NICHO- 
LAS will ever be needed as army nurses ; but it is 
almost certain that every one of the girls, and many 
of the boys, will have to care for the sick many 



times in the course of their lives, either in their 
own homes or in the homes of others ; and unless 
they know how to do it in the best and easiest way, 
for the best is always really the easiest, they may 
do more harm than good. The best intentions 
and kindliest feelings, in order to be successful, 
must be intelligently applied. Experience is, of 
course, the best teacher, but it is not pleasant for 
sick people to be experimented upon, and mistakes 
or omissions in such matters are sometimes fatal ; 
so perhaps a few simple directions may be the next 
best thing to experience. 

In the first place, remember that, in cases of 
severe illness, a friend's life may depend upon care 
and watchfulness on your part, and that the duties 
of the sick room are made up of a great variety of 
little things, which may seem trivial, but which are 
really very important. 

Keep the air of the room fresh and pure always, 
and do not try to do it by opening the door now 
and then. It was one of Miss Nightingale's rules, 
that " windows are made to be open — doors are 
made to be shut." Pure air must come from out- 
side. Do not be afraid to open the window unless 
the physician has forbidden it, but be sure that you 
do not cool the air too much in trying to freshen it. 
There is no essential connection between cold air 
and /«?r air. In admitting fresh air, be very care- 
ful that it cannot blow directly upon the invalid. 
A shawl spread across two high-backed chairs will 
take the place of a screen in keeping off the draught. 

Keep everything about the patient as sweet and 
clean as possible. Have the room neat and pleas- 
ant and orderly. A row of sticky bottles, with two 
or three spoons in which medicine has been meas- 
ured, a bowl from which gruel has been served, 
an untidy grate, a littered floor or table, will make 
any sick person feel discouraged. A few flowers 
by the bedside, a constant supply of fresh, cool 
water, bed-clothes frequently smoothed and pillow 
changed, the light carefully shaded from the weak 
eyes, — attention to little things like these will 
make a great difference in the coYnfort and spirits 
of the sick person. 

Write down all that the physician tells you be- 
fore you forget it, and pin the paper where you 
can consult it easily ; and look at it frequently, that 
you may not let the time for giving medicine slip 
by without knowing it. This will save you the 
trouble of remembering everything, and if some 
one comes to take your place, you will not have to 
repeat the directions. 

Do not wait until sick people ask for what they 
want, but try to anticipate their wishes. Some 
people, with the kindest intentions, annoy by con- 
stantly asking the sick if they do not wish this and 
that, and how they feel, and other similar ques- 

tions, until they are quite worn out by answering, 
and are tempted to give the ungracious reply, that 
all they want is to be let alone. 

In sickness, people arc sensitive to small annoy- 
ances, which can hardly be appreciated by a person 
in health. The crackling of a newspaper, or the 
rustle of a silk dress, may become a source of seri- 
ous discomfort to them. Learn to avoid all unnec- 
essary noise, but remember that there is a sort of 
laborious quiet, more annoying still. Walking about 
on tiptoe, or whispering, are sure to disturb a nerv- 
ous person more than an ordinary step or tone. 
If the fire needs replenishing, it can be done very 
quietly by having the coal in paper bags, which 
can be laid on with no noise at all. If you are 
careful, every time you leave the room, to remember 
to take something with you which is to go down 
stairs, and, when you come back, to bring some- 
thing which you need, you will save yourself many 
steps, and the invalid the annoyance of hearing you 
go out and in five or six times, when once would 
have done as well. 

Ask the physician what food a sick person may 
have, and be careful to follow his directions in this, 
as in everything else, exactly. Whatever you take 
to the invalid, make it look as attractive as possible. 
Marion- Harland has told you, in St. NICHOLAS, 
how to make beef tea, and " always put it in the 
prettiest bowl you can find," which is a very im- 
portant part. Do not take too much of anything, 
as a small quantity is much more likely to tempt 
the appetite. Spread a clean napkin over your 
salver, and if you have nothing more to offer than 
a toasted cracker, and a cup of tea, let everything 
be good of the kind, and neatly served. A slop ol 
tea in the saucer, a burnt side to the cracker, a 
sticky spoon, may spoil what might have seemed 
an attractive breakfast. If the invalid can sit up in 
a chair to eat, so much the better; but if not, 
spread a large napkin, or towel, over the sheet, 
that it may not become disfigured by drops spilled 
upon it. Have something always at hand to throw 
over the shoulders while sitting up in bed, and see 
that the pillows are so arranged as to afford a com- 
fortable support for the back. 

If you can procure some little delicacy, it will 
taste much better if it comes as a surprise than it 
will if you have been foolish enough to mention it 
beforehand. Food should never be spoken of in a 
sick room, unless it is absolutely necessary. 

If you read aloud, be sure to read distinctly, 
and no\ too long at a time, because sick people are 
easily tired. This must be remembered when call- 
ers are admitted. When they ask leave to come 
in, you must say, frankly, that your charge can 
only bear short visits ; and when you yourself are 
calling on invalids, remember that time seems 

5 88 



longer to them than it does to you. Last of all, 
but by no means least, talk only of pleasant things. 
The baby's last funny speech, the good fortune of 
your friend, the pleasant letter, bringing good 
news from a far country, the amusing anecdote, 
the entertaining book, — never of the worries, and 
pain, and care, which come to your knowledge. 
Sick people do not need to hear of others' misfor- 
tunes. They know enough of their own. What- 
ever of weariness or anxiety you may feel, never 
betray it by word or look, and do not let them feel 
that the time which you devote to them is given 
grudgingly. I have said nothing of kindness, and 
forbearance, and patience, and good temper; but 
all these graces will be needed, since invalids often 
are very provoking. Let all their little peevish 

ways give you a hint of something to avoid when 
your time of sickness comes, and you are minis- 
tered to by others. 

These few suggestions, of course, do not exhaust 
the subject. They may seem to you quite unneces- 
sary, and only what ought to be familiar to every 
one ; but they are not always acted upon, as many 
sufferers can testify. 

Dr. Holmes, who knows something, from educa- 
tion, observation, and experience, about a sick 
room, says that 

" — Simple kindness kneeling by the bed 
To shift the pillow for the sick man's head, 
Give the fresh draught to cool the lips that bum, 
Fan the hot brow, the weary frame to turn ; 
Wins back more sufferers with her voice and smile, 
Than all the trumpery in the druggist's pile." 


Hushaby, hushaby, hush, 
My lady is eating her mush. 
Her little black servant, alas ! 
Is bobbing in front of the glass — 
Bobbing now, just think upon it, 
Drest in my lady's best bonnet ! 

The cat on the pantry shelf 
To the cream is helping herself. 
A little grey mouse, at her ease, 
Is nibbling away at the cheese. 
Each slyly her own way pursuing, 
Sees not what the other is doing ;- 

But wait till my lady is done ! 
Wait, if you wish to see fun ! 



By Susan Coolidge. 

Once upon a time there was a giant, a real true 
giant ; not a made-up one, such as we read about 
in fairy tales. He was nearly twelve feet high, as 
tall as two ordinary men, and his head and hands 
and body were big in proportion. Also, he was 
enormously strong. When he went out to fight 
he carried in his hand a spear which weighed three 
hundred pounds, and wore a huge brazen helmet, 
and a coat of mail so heavy that a horse was 
hardly able to drag it along. But the strong giant 
bore it easily, and it clanked with a terrible noise 
as he stalked about. In all the land where he lived 
was no man so strong as he, and when his country- 
people prepared for battle he was always set in 
front of the other soldiers, because the very look 
of him was enough to make the enemy tremble 
and run away. 

In another country, close to that in which the 
giant dwelt, there lived at the same time a good 
old farmer who had eight sons. Seven of them 
were tall, stalwart fellows, of whom their father 
was justly proud. The youngest was a slight, 
active lad, with a fair skin and pink cheeks, whom 
his big brothers, as big brothers often will, looked 
upon as almost a baby, and treated accordingly. 
They did the hard and heavy work on the farm, 
and set him to watch and tend the sheep, of which 
the old farmer had a large flock. Tending sheep 
in those days, however, was not so easy a task as 
with us, for there were wild beasts in the land, and 
occasionally they attacked the flocks in their past- 
uring grounds. One morning the little shepherd 
came in with an exciting story. A lion with a bear, 
he said, had fallen on the sheep during the night ; 
and he had fought and killed them both. The old 
farmer was pleased at his boy's prowess, but the 
big brothers laughed provokingly, and " guessed" 
it must have been a very small lion and a very 
small bear, and that little David was making a 
great deal out of a sriiall matter. Did I tell you 
that David was the youngest brother's name ? 

Of course, David did not like this treatment, but 
he was of a happy, cheerful temper, and bore it 
pleasantly, returning no sharp words, but going 
on with his daily work and biding his time. "All 
things come to him who waits," says the old prov- 
erb. Much was coming to David. 

The country in which these persons lived was 
ruled at that time by a young king, who had been 
selected by lot a few years before. He was taller 
and handsomer than any other young man in the 

land ; a great fighter, too, and the people were 
very proud of him at first. But he was not as 
wise as he was handsome, and latterly had done 
many wrong and foolish things, and offended the 
Lord God, who was the real head and king of the 
nation. God had, therefore, resolved to give the 
people another king, and had signified this to a 
great prophet who, in those days, dwelt in the 
land, and was much feared and respected by every- 
body. He told the Prophet to take the horn of 
oil with which the kings were always anointed, 
and go down to the part of the country where the 
old farmer lived, and anoint a new king from 
among the eight sons. 

So, horn in hand, the Prophet went. The peo- 
ple of the village were frightened when they saw 
him, for they feared it was to predict some misfor- 
tune that he was come to them. But he smiled 
and said No, it was no misfortune ; he was there 
to offer a sacrifice, and everybody must attend and 
help. Among the rest came the old farmer and 
his seven elder sons. Little David stayed with his 
sheep, — nobody thought of him. I dare say they 
did not even let him know that the Prophet was 

When the Prophet saw the seven tall, splendid 
young men, he rejoiced in his heart. 

He looked on the eldest as he came forward, 
and thought, " Surely the Lord's Anointed is be- 
fore me ! " But the voice of the Lord within the 
Prophet seemed to say : " I have refused him, for 
the Lord seeth not as man seeth, for man looketh 
on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh 
on the heart." 

Then the second son came forward, and the 
third and the fourth, and each time the Prophet 
thought, " Surely this is he ! " But still the voice 
of the Lord within the Prophet said, "Neither 
have I chosen this." 

When all the seven had tried and failed, the 
Prophet asked of the farmer, "Are here all thy 
children? " 

The farmer replied : 

" There remaineth the youngest, but behold he 
keepeth the sheep." 

Then said the Prophet, " Send and fetch him." 

Pretty soon, fresh, rosy and active, his shepherd's 
staff in his hand and wonderment in his eyes, came 
the little shepherd through the crowd; and the 
Prophet knew that this was the chosen 6f the 
Lord. So he poured the oil on his head, and 




cried, " This is he who shall be king over the 
people ! " 

I have an idea that the big brothers stared at 
this scene, and afterward whispered among them- 
selves, that the Prophet was getting old and did 
not seem to know what he was about, else why did 
he choose that boy ? Little David did not take on 
any airs because of these new honors, but went 
back to his sheep-cote, did his work faithfully, and 
when he had leisure, composed music and played 
on a harp which he had, singing with his fresh 
voice. In all the country round, no one played so 
well as David. 

Not long after, the young king was seized with 
a strange mental illness. He became moody and 
fierce, could not sleep, and daily grew worse. 
Nothing seemed to soothe him excepting the sound 
of music, and his attendants sought far and wide 
for a skillful harper who could play before the 
king and brighten his mood with sweet sounds. 
Some of them heard of David, and one day they 
came and carried him and his harp to the court. 
David was not frightened, and played so beautifully 
that the king loved to hear him better than any 
one else, and when he recovered, he kept the dear 
boy near him as an armor-bearer, or page. Before 
long, however, a great war broke out between the 
people of that land and the people of the fearful 
giant. The king had to rouse himself and take 
command of the army, so he sent the little page 
home again to his father and the sheep. 

All the active fighting men were wanted for the 
war, and among the rest went David's seven broth- 
ers. The two armies encamped on two opposite 
mountains, with a valley between, and every morn- 
ing and every evening the great giant, in his 
shining armor, with his spear in his hand and his 
enormous shield borne before him by a man, strode, 
down from the hillside into the valley, and called 
out, insultingly, " I defy you ! Send down a man 
to fight me, if there is one among you. If I con- 
quer, you shall all be my servants, and if you con- 
quer, we will be yours." But the people knew very 
well who was likely to conquer, and no one dared 
answer the challenge, because the giant was so big 
and terrible. 

So things went on for several days, the giant 
becoming louder and more insulting in his tone, 
and no one venturing to descend into the valley to 
meet him. One morning the old farmer loaded 
an ass with corn and cheeses and loaves of bread, 
and told David to drive it to the camp ; for he 
feared the brothers there would be inwant of food, 
t fancy David must have been glad to go — boys 
like to see what is going on, and it is not pleasant 
to be left at home as too young to help, when all 
the others set forth to fight giants. 

So David fed his sheep, gave directions for the 
care of them to one of the serving men, took a 
last look at the quiet fold, and set forth. The 
Bible, which gives the rest of this beautiful story, 
does not tell us anything about David's journey to 
the camp, but among the people of David there is 
a pretty tradition, which I will give, not as true, 
but only as curious : 

" As David went he passed over a pebbly bit of 
soil, and a stone cried to him, ' Pick me up and 
take me with thee.' He stooped and picked up 
the stone and placed it in his pouch. And when 
he had taken a few paces, another stone cried to 
him, ' Pick me up and take me with thee.' He 
did so. And a third stone cried in like manner, 
and was in like manner taken by David. The first 
stone was that wherewith Abraham had driven 
away Satan, when he sought to dissuade the patri- 
arch from offering up his son ; and the second 
stone was that on which the foot of Gabriel rested 
when he opened the fountain in the desert for 
Hagar and Ishmael; and the third stone was that 
wherewith Jacob strove against the angel whom his 
brother Esau had sent against him. It was with 
these stones that David afterward vanquished the 

David reached the camp just as a great battle 
seemed about to begin. His brothers were with 
their " thousands " in the trenches. He left the 
provisions with the tent-keeper, and searched till 
he found the brothers. As they stood talking, 
down from the opposite mountain stalked the 
giant, shaking his spear and clattering his iron 
armor. The very earth trembled as he marched 
along. In the valley below, he halted, and again 
rang the insulting challenge : 

" Give me a man and let us fight together." 

When David heard this, the hot blood blazed in 
his cheeks, and he spoke passionately to those near 
him: "Who is this unholy Philistine that he 
should defy the armies of the living God? What 
will the king give to the man who killeth him 
and taketh away the reproach from Israel?" 

The others replied : " The man who killeth the 
giant the king will enrich with great riches, and 
will give him his daughter, and make his father's 
house free forever." 

But David's oldest brother was vexed at what 
he considered the boastful spirit of the question, 
and he said, severely, "What did you come here 
for, and who is taking care of your sheep while you 
are away ? I know what a conceited fellow you 
are. You have run away to see the battle, and 
ought to be at home." 

But meantime somebody had repeated David's 
words to the king. I suppose, after the long panic 
they had been in, it was refreshing to have some- 



body speak in a different strain, for the king sent 
for David, and asked him why he had said thus. 
And David answered, " Let no man's heart fail 
him, / will go and fight this Philistine." 

" But," said the king, " you are not able; you 
are only a boy, and he is a man of war from his 
youth up." 

valley that he might seize and crush the boy 
between his finger and thumb. David made haste 
too, and as he ran, slipping his hand into the 
pouch, he chose a pebble, put it into his sling, 
and, taking good aim, hurled it straight at his foe. 
So truly was it aimed that the pebble hit the giant 
exactly in the middle of his vast forehead, and 

But David said: " Thy servant kept his father's struck so heavily that he was stunned, and fell to 

sheep, and there came a lion and a bear and took 
a lamb out of the flock. 

" And I went out after him and smote him, and 
delivered him out of his mouth ; and when he 
arose against me I caught him by the beard, and 
smote him and slew him. Thy servant slew both 
the lion and the bear, and this unholy Philis- 
tine shall be as one of them, seeing that 
lie has defied the armies of the living God. 
The Lord that delivered me out of the 
paw of the lion and out of the paw of the 
bear, He will deliver me out of the hand 
of this Philistine." 

And when the king heard this and 
marked David's clear eye and brave bear- 
ing, he said, "Go, and the Lord be with 
thee." Then he offered to lend David his 
own helmet and sword and coat of mail. 
But when David tried them, he found that 
he could not move easily because he was 
unused to them ; so he took them off again, 
and in his simple shepherd's coat, with 
his staff in his hand, and his sling and 
a wallet full of smooth stones by his side, 
set off down the hill to meet the giant. 

When the giant saw the slender boy 
come forth to meet him, he was full of 
anger and contempt, and said : " Am I a 
(.log that you come to me with a staff?" 
He began to curse and swear. " Come 
here, and I will give thy flesh to the 
fowls of the air and the beasts of the field. ' 

Then said David: "Thou comest to 
me with a sword and with a spear and 
shield, but I come to thee in the name of 
the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies 
of Israel, whom thou hast defied. 

" This day will the Lord deliver thee into 
my hand, and I will smite thee and take thy head 
from thee ; and I will give the carcasses of the host 
of the Philistines this day to the fowls of the air and 
to the beasts of the field, that all the earth may 
know that there is a God in Israel. 

" And all this assembly shall know that the 
Lord saveth not with sword and spear, for the bat- 
tle is the Lord's, and he will give you into our 

When the giant heard these daring words he 
roared louder than ever, and made haste across the 

the ground. Then David, who had no sword, 
ran, jumped on the giant, plucked the big sword 
from the sheath, and with it cut off the giant's 
head, which he held up that the people on both 
hillsides might see. Oh, what a shout arose from 
the army of Israel ! while the Philistines, seized 
with sudden panic, scattered and ran like sheep, 

the Israelites pursuing and slaying thousands of 
them before they could escape to their own land. 

This was the end of the giant, but not of little 
David. He never went back again to the sheep- 
folds. The Lord had greater work for him to do, and 
put, instead of the flocks, a nation into his keeping. 
He had been faithful over a few things, and was 
faithful also over the larger charge when it came. 
Israel never had so wise nor so great a ruler as her 
Shepherd King and Sweet Singer, who, when he 
was a boy, fought with and overcame the giant. 





By Lucy G. Morse. 

Mam-ma was put-ting Gre-ta and Mi-mi to bed the night be-fore 
Christ-mas ; and she told them this story : " Af-ter the chil-dren are fast 
a-sleep, the good Sant-a Klaus climbs down the chim-neys with his great 
bag of toys. Then he goes to all the lit-tle beds and looks at the fa-ces 
of the sleep-ers, and he has seen so man-y of them that he has grown 
ve-ry wise. While they are at rest he can tell if the lit-tle shut eyes look 

an-gry when they are o-pen, or if cross words are apt to come out of 
the mouths. He will look at my Gre-ta to-night, and will say : ' There 
are no marks of tears on her cheeks ; her mouth is sweet and ros-y, — I 
am sure it has been a smil-ing, hap-py mouth all day. Her hands are 
fold-ed, but they are bu-sy hands, — I am sure they have picked up 
Mi-mi's toys and Mam-ma's spools. They have tak-en hold of Mi-mi's fat 
hands and helped her up and down the steep stairs, and they have giv-en 
her a big piece of the cake which Grand-ma sent Gre-ta for her own.' 

" Then Sant-a Klaus will see Mi-mi and say : ' I think Mi-mi's face 
looks as if she loved Gre-ta, — her mouth looks full of kiss-es, and her 
hands will soon learn to be bu-sy, like Gre-ta's.' Last of all, Sant-a 
Klaus will go to Mam-ma's bed, and will say : ' Mam-ma's face would 
not look so hap-py and so full of peace if her lit-tle girls were not ve-ry 




good and sweet. I must put some of my pret-ti-est toys in their stock- 
ings, and I will leave two pict-ure-books on their lit-tle chairs.' ' 

Then Mam-ma hung up the stock-ings and kissed her lit-tle ones 
good-night. Gre-ta and Mi-mi were so hap-py that they laughed soft-ly 
un-der the bed-cov-ers, and they had to wink and blink their eyes a 
long time be-fore they could go to sleep. 

And in the morn-ing the sto-ry came out true. 


By E. T. Alden. 


ittle Speck-le has laid an egg,- 

" Kik, kak, kik-a-kee, koo ! " 
Bob-by Shang-hai lifts his leg 

L of And mut-ters a low " K ' 1-doo ! " 
jv The gray goose stretch-es her neck to hear, 
£>._, The pig-eons o-verthe barn-eaves peer, 
-<" The ducks wad-die out of the mud ; 

The pig-gy grunts at the door of his sty, 
The cow looks up with a won-der-ing eye, 
For-get-ting to chew her cud ; 
Baa ! " bleats the goat by the hay-stack tied, 

The po-ny stamps in his stall, 
The par-rot, perched by the win-dow wide, 

Be-gins to scream and call, 
The kit-tens un-der the ta-ble hide, 

" Bow-wow ! " barks Frisk in the hall ; 
And lit-tle Char-ley comes run-ning out 
To see what the fuss is all a-bout. 

It's on-ly Speck-le, — " K'kak, k'kee ! " — 
She 's laid an egg as sure as can be. 
It's on-ly Speck-le — "K'kak, k'koo ! " — 
So proud she does n't know what to do. 





" Now the bright morning-star, day's harbinger, 
comes dancing from the east, and leads with her 
the flowery May," as somebody's Jack said, ever 
so long ago. 

Talking of " long ago," my youngsters, you 
ought to be truly thankful that you don't live in 
the times of the old Romans, for they gave up the 
whole of May to the old folks, the ' ; Majores," as 
they called them. It is from this that the month 
takes its name, the Little Schoolma'am says. She 
might tell you more about it, perhaps, but, just 
now. she is busy cleaning house ; — which reminds 
me, since it is moist spring weather, to give you a 
few dry facts from another schoolma'am about 

" HUNDREDS and hundreds of years ago, when 
Europeans were living with floors bare or strewed 
with rushes or twigs, carpets were in use in China, 
India and Egypt. The first carpets were simply 
rugs to sit upon in place of chairs. In the time of 
Homer, the blind Greek poet, either plain or em- 
broidered carpets were spread before the couches 
that guests reclined upon at meals ; and later, 
when the Greeks grew more fond of rich and gay 
furniture, they imported from Babylon gorgeous 
carpets with raised figures of men and animals. 

" The early Romans were stern warriors and did 
not mind bare floors; but, when Rome became 
mistress of the world, her chief men grew extrava- 
gant, and bought the richest carpets the Orientals 
could make. 

" The first attempt to make carpets in Western 
Europe was the plaiting of rushes into matting. 
Before this, Queen Mary I. of England had her 
presence chamber, where she received company, 
strewed with rushes. But Elizabeth, when she 
came to the throne, had the rushes cleared away 
and fine Turkey carpets put in their place. 

" It used to take a man a life-time to make a 
carpet large enough for a small room, because car- 
pets had to be made by hand ; and this caused 
them to be very costly, so that only rich persons 
could afford to buy them. Europeans at length 
succeeded in weaving them by machinery, and in 
course of time even poor families could have warm 
and pretty coverings for the floors of their rooms. 
But still, nowadays, in Persia, Turkey and India, 
whole families are employed in making carpets by 
hand, and some persons consider these far finer 
than the best that machinery can weave." 


NOBODY yet has opened a studio for taking 
photographic portraits under water, I believe, — 
unless some of you hasty young inventors have 
been getting ahead of your Jack's paragrams. But 
somebody has succeeded in taking a few photo- 
graphs deep in the sea, near the coast of Scotland. 

So, now, any one who is burning to distinguish 
himself may rejoice in a cool way of becoming 
famous. All he has to do is to dive well down 
under water with a weighted photographing ma- 
chine, and take portraits all day long of wonderful 
fishes and corals and shells, and weedy and ugly 
monsters in their native haunts. It would be well 
for him to choose a time after the big fishes have 
dined, or they might mistake him for dinner. Or 
he might go down in a diving-bell, or even arrange 
to do the work from a boat on the surface of the 
water by means of electricity. 

Well, any way, you 'd better think these hints 
over pretty thoroughly before you put them into 
practice, my youngsters. 


My Dear Mr. Jack-in-the-Pulpit: In answer to S. W. K.'s 
question in your February budget, I found in "Wood's Natural His- 
tory" that although the Gemsbok is nearly independent of-water, it 
needs some moisture ; and it would perish in the arid deserts, were it 
not that it finds there certain plants which attract and retain every 
particle of moisture that may happen to settle near. You mentioned 
one of these plants in September, 1879. 

I didnot come across anything about the Oryx or the Druiker; but, 
concerning the Eland, Wood says that in some strange way it con- 
trives to live for months together withotit drinking ; and even when 
the herbage is so dry that it crumbles to powder in the hand, the 
Eland keeps in good condition. — Yours truly, Bella Wehl. 


YOUR Jack has just received the startling news 
that, in Victoria, Australia, two trees have been 
found larger than the biggest trees of California ! 
They are of the Eucalyptus family, and one of 
them is four hundred and thirty-five feet high, the 
other four hundred and fifty. 

What will the giant California trees say to this ? 


Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: I believe you would like to know 
about this, so I will tell you, and then you can tell the others, if you 
wish to. 

One evening, a nice lady, something like the Lady from Philadel- 
phia whom the Peterkins knew, asked us at supper-time : 

" Do you know the shape of the tea-leaf? " 

Of course, we all said "No." 

" But you can very easily find out," said she. 

I said, "I don't see very well how." And none of the others 
knew how. We had no books that told about the shape of tea-leaves; 
and, as for dried tea, of course that would n't help. 


J ACK- IN- THE - I' L T I. P I T. 


"You have some soaked tea-leaves right by you," said the lady. 
" Take a few out of ihe tea-pot and spread them flat." 

We said, "O, pshaw ; " but very soon had a lot of tea-leaves spread 
out flat. Some of them were torn, but the whole ones were very 
pretty, and, afterward, I picked out a number, and arranged them on 
white paper. The little girls from near by all came in to see, and 
said they looked very pretty. 

Good-bye, dear Jack, with love from your little friend, 

Mamie Lewis. 


In" the East Indies there arc trees whose roots 
stand seventy and even eighty feet in the air, — 
more than twelve times the height of a tall man. 

A tree of this kind generally grows from a seed 
dropped by a bird in a fork of some other lofty 
tree. The young plant lives for a time on the sap 
of the friendly giant that supports it, but, in a little 
while, it sends out roots which grow toward the 


ground and at last strike there. When the older 
tree dies and falls to pieces, the other is held up 
firmly by its own roots, from the top of which, as 
from a tall pyramid of interlacing trunks, it rears 
its head and spreads abroad its leafy branches. 

The pictures show a young tree with its roots 
already grown part of the way down, and also a 
well grown tree, though not one of the tallest, for 
its roots reach up only thirty feet, or about five 
times the height of the man standing beside them. 


THE cuckoo bird is like the cow-bird in one 
thing — it lavs eggs in the nests of other birds, and 
lets them hatch the eggs and take care of the 
strange young ones. Its name comes from the cry 
it makes, which is just like the sound of the word 
" cuckoo." In England, this bird's note, when 
heard for the first time early in the year, is sup- 
posed to tell that spring is coming. 

Your Jack reminds you of all this, my dears, so 
that you may better understand 
these verses which V. H. G. sends, as 
a translation, by himself, from the 
German : 

Once from the town' a starling flew, 
And on the road there met his view 
A cuckoo, who to him did say: 

" What is the news from town to-day?" 
Said he: "The nightingale's sweet lays 
Receive from all the greatest praise. 
The thrush, the blackbird and the wren. 
Are slightly mentioned now and then." 
Then said the cuckoo, anxiously : 

" Pray tell me what they say of me." 
The starling faltered, then replied. 
What greatly hurt the cuckoo's pride : 

" That is a thing I cannot do ; 
Because none ever speak of you." 
The cuckoo tossing, then, his head 
In anger to the starling said: 

" I '11 be revenged, and will from spite 
Sing of myself from morn till night." 


This is a word which the Chinese 
and gypsies gave us, the Little 
Schoolma'am says. And she adds 
that it takesits meaning from an old. 
common joke in China — that of 
dressing a man in bamboos in order 
to teach him to swim. But it does 
n't teach him, and, if he has been 
dull enough to submit to the joke, 
he finds he has been fooled about it. 
So, nowadays, the word means 
Ci deceived by a transparent trick." 


Dear Mr. Jack: When my father was a 
boy, he was lost in a forest haunted by wild 
beasts. The harder he tried to find his way, 
the deeper he got into the wood. Just :>s night 
came on, he reached a stream, and or. its edge 
were tracks of wild animals who came there to 
drink, — bears, panthers, deer and elk. But, 
besides these, there was the fresh print of a 
cow's hoof. He thought this must be the fa- 
vorite c»W missed from a neighbor's farm many 
months before, and supposed to have run wild. 
So he hid himself and waited, hoping she 
would come there again to drink. 

She did come ; and, as she was quietly 
walking away, the boy took a strong grip of 
her tail, struck herwith a stick, and hallooed al 
her. This scared her very much, and she ran so fast that it was all 
he could do to keep hold. When she stopped, they were in a clear- 
ing near home. She was quelled by that time, and he easily got her 
into the barn. 

Of course, he felt proud at having recovered a valuable animal, but 
the folks only laughed at him, because, they said, "he had been 
found by a lost cow" ! — Yours truly, L. H. 




This pathetic ballad, now printed for the first time, was written thirty years ago by a little girl for the entertainment of her playmates. 
Together they had just witnessed the enactment of this true history, and had sorrowed over the tragic fates of Christie, Sister Chirp, Pick, 
Hop and the "sweet ladye." We can imagine the melancholy satisfaction of the little group in listening to the recital so closely resem- 
bling, to their ears, the ballads in their beloved book, "Percy's Reliques." Miss Bridges gives you, in the frontispiece, a spirited 
sketch of Sir Christopher and his family, showing them in their pretty home just before their troubles began. 

Sir Christopher Wren was as brave a bird 

As ever sang in a tree, 
And when the northern summer was come, 

Up from the south came he. 

He stole the heart of a birdie small, 

And made her his Lady Wren, 
The happiest bird for miles around 

Was our Sir Christopher then. 

O long is the early summer day, 
And long was the way they went, 

Over meadow and garden and woodland wild, 
To look for a place to rent. 

At last they came to a calabash 

With a large, round hole for a door, 

A house that was to be had for a song, 
And so they looked no more. 

Ah, he was a skillful architect 

That raised the great St. Paul; 
But our Mr Christopher Wren could make 

What the other could not at all. 

And after a while there were dear little eggs, 

Four round eggs in the nest, 
And the mother Wren spread out her wings, 

And settled herself to rest. 

Oh, day by day did her true knight fly 

Her dainty meals to bring; 
And day by day, to please his ladye, 

Would hop on the roof and sing. 

At last out came the little ones, 

As hungry as they could be; 
Sir Christopher never in all his life 

Had seen any birds so wee. 

And proud and happy was he, 

And his evening song was gay, 
Although he was often tired with flying 

About for food all day. 

Oh, sad and drear is the tale I sing, 

And O that it were not true ! 
One day they both went out to search, 

To look fur a worm or two. 

Then up and spake young Christie Wren, 
"Oh, sister Chirp," said he, 
' I think I '11 look outside this door 
To find what I can see." 

'Oh no, oh no, our brother dear!" 

Cried out his sisters three ; 
' You might fall down and break your bones.' 
" Oh, I 'II take care," said he. 

But, sure enough, away he went, 

His sisters heard him go ; 
They tried to pull him back again, 

But saw him fall below. 

Oh, when Sir Christopher and his 
Came back in the evening gray, 

And saw their son so dear and dead, 
How sad, how sad were they. 

With hearts of grief they went, next day, 

To get some food for the rest; 
But the poor little birds had been so frightened 

They never stirred from the nest. 

This time they brought in food enough 

To last at least a week; 
But little Pick she ate so much 

She could nor move nor speak. 

They could not do her a bit of good, 

And pretty soon she died ; 
They laid her on the ground so low, 

And bitterly they sighed. 

Oh, sad and drear is the northern wind, 

And sad is the talc I write ! 
One night the northern wind blew cold, 

Though it was in the summer night. 

And Lady Wren she covered her daughters; 
But little Hop did say: 
1 I wont have covers! I wont have covers!" 
And threw them ell away. 

So when the morning sunlight came, 

Poor Hop was cold and dead: 
They laid her on the ground so low, 

And many a tear was shed. 

Poor little Chirp sat all so lonely 

Beneath her mother's wing, 
She would not hop about nor play, 

Nor eat a single thing. 

They sometimes left her all alone, 

Alone in the empty nest, 
So, at last, she pined herself away, 

And went with all the rest. 

And yet more sad my tale must be, — 

For, oh ! it came to pass, 
Next day the poor little Lady Wren 

Was hopping among the grass. 

She was trying to pick a little dinner, 

Though grief was on her mind, 
And she did not see the old gray puss 

Come creeping on behind. 

He pounced upon the little lady 

Before she turned her head; 
She hardly even felt his paw, 

She was so quickly dead. 

And poor Sir Christopher hopped in the tree 
Till the evening shades grew dim, 

Looking about for his little lady 
Who never came back to him. 

He left the home where he once had been 

As happy as any prince ; 
Slowly and sadly he flew away, 

And has never been heard of since. 





Dear St. Nicholas : There is a young lady in Boston, who asks 
"why I could not unbutton my dress" when I was caught in my 
trunk, and " slip out of it," — out of my dress, she means. That was 
the trouble. I could not "slip out" of anything. 1 tried to slip out 
of my boots, but could not reach them (for I could not move), and it 
would not have done any good. My dress was caught and held me 
fast, so I could not "slip out," or turn anywhere. I wished I could. 
1 wish trunks would not snap to, so, when you sit on them, and yet 
they wont shut if you don't. — Respectfully, 

Elizabeth Eliza Peterkin. 

P S.— The young lady might try. 

Dear St. Nicholas: My cousin, who is in a ship coming from 
lava, wrote this about a monkey which they had on board : " He 
is as full of mischief as he can be. Once a sailor was taking a letter 
to the captain to be mailed, when up jumped Jack, for that is the 
monkey's name, snatched the letter and tore it up. This was the 
first time the poor sailor had written home for more than three years. 
Once before, he wrote, and a parrot tore up that letter. He would 
not write a third ; so Jack did more harm than he meant to, perhaps. 
He is a very good friend to the ducks ; but he does not like chickens, 
and pulls out their feathers whenever he gets a chance." 

Allie M. J. 

Alpha Epsilon. — From your description, we should say the coin 
is a Spanish piece of two "reals." It is of small value as money, and 
of no value for a collection. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Sister Katy told me this story about a pair 
of ducks: A lady bought a pair of ducks, and after a while one of 
them was run over by a cart and died. The one that lived would not 
eat anything nor do anything. One day it found a little piece of 
looking-glass on the bam floor, and looked into it; and it sat down 
there and nobody could get it away. For a long time they could not 
think what was the matter. But at last they found it out. There 
it saw its own reflection, but it thought it was the other duck. 1 think 
this showed that it did not forget, but loved still. 

This is a true story. — From your loving reader, 

Lizzie H. Hii.liard. 

one here smart enough to guess it, and if any of the readers of the 
' Letter-Box ' can solve it, I shall be very glad. " 

Dear St. Nicholas: I have heard that, in Australia, the leaves, 
instead of exposing their flat surfaces to the sun, turn their edges to 
his rays. Why is this 'i— Your friend, Carrie Snead. 

Those of our older readers who were interested in the Algebraic 
problem printed in the Letter-Box for July, 1879, may like to 
test the following solution, for which the author holds himself re- 
sponsible. Several other " solutions " have b--en sent in, but there is 
not room fur more than one. 

Doylestown Seminary, Doylestown, Pa. 
Editor "St. Nicholas": The following i^ a true solution of the 
algebraic problem discussed in your magazine : 

(I.) x 2 +y = 7 

(2.) x + y* = n 

(3-) x ' 2 +xy 2 = nx (multiply (2) by x) 

(4.) xy 2 — y=IIx — 7 [subtract (1) from (3)] 

(5.) 2x + 2y 2 = 22 [multiply (2) by 2] 

(6.) X y 2 +2y 2 +2x — y=nx + l5 [add (4) and (5)] 

(7-) (x + 2)y 2 — y = 9x-f 15 (factoring and reducing) 

(8.) y 2 — JL = ?iJI§ (dividing by coefficient of y' 2 ) 

(9-) y* -£, + c4- 4 ) 2 = ^ 5 + G£j)' (opting 

the square) y — = y 36x3+132x4-121 6x+n 

2X ; * 2X + 4 >2 2X -u 4 

(10.) y= ^~ (transpose) 



Isabella Nichols. — "St. Kitt's " is the local name ot "St. 
Christopher's," one of the Caribbee Islands, and a possession of Great 

Robert T. asks the " Letter-Box " readers to let him know who 
first said "Be sure you are right; then go ahead; " and when and 
why he said it. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I like my game of " Solitaire " much better 
than the one spoken of by Benjamin T. Delafield in the March 
"Jitter-Box." My father made me a board, five or six yea is ago, 
with a small gimlet hole in place of Delafield's numbers : and we use 
a little peg for every hole except the center one, which is left to jump 
into at the first move. We are not allowed to jump diagonally at all. 
The game consists in leaving but one man ; it is very difficult, but it 
can be done. V, D'O. S. S. 

Dear St. Nicholas: The other day I saw in an article in a 
newspaper the following item : 

" The decade of the eighteen hundred and seventies is now a 
thing of the past, and we have entered upon the momentous decade 
of the eighteen hundred and eighties" 

It seems to me that the writer of this has made a mistake in 
reckoning the decade. Did n't the first decade begin with the year 
one, and end with the year ten ? And did n't the second begin with 
the year eleven and end with the year twenty? And so did n't the 
decade of the eighteen hum/red and severities begin with the begin- 
ning of eighteen hundred and seventy-one. and does n't it end with 
the present year ? I have heard it said that Washington died in 
the last hour of the last day of the last century. But he died a 
little before midnight on the 14th of December, 1799. And be- 
sides that, the last century ended with the end of the year 1800. 
I should like to know what other St. Nicholas readers think about 
it. — Your devoted reader, M. A. G. C. 

A school-boy writes, saying: "One of our teachers, the other 
night, proposed this riddle, which, she said, broke Homer's heart: 
'Some fishermen went fishing. What they caught they threw away, 
and what they did n't catch they carried with them.' There is no 


Many young students who enjoy occasional pastime in arithmeti- 
cal play-grounds will be interested in the following communication 
from Mr. Hale : 

The arithmetics in common use generally contain rules for finding 
out by inspection whether numbers are divisible by 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 
9 or 10, but make no attempt at all, or at best an imperfect attempt, 
to give a rule for 7 and stop short with the decimal number. But it 
happens that there is a simple rul- which answers perfectly as regards 
all numbers exceeding 1,000, not only for 7 but also for two other 
ugly looking prime numbers, namely 11 and 13 It is an objection 
to this rule that it does not apply to numbers less than 1,000; but 4 
neither does the rule ordinarily given for finding out whether a num- 
ber is divisible by 8, apply when the hundreds are even. 

The rule for finding whether a number is divisible by 7, 11, or 13 
is this: Separate the number into two parts by detaching the last 
three figures from the rest; subtract the smaller of these two parts 
from the larger; repeat the process, if necessary, until a remainder 
less than 1,000 is obtained ; if this remainder be divisible by 7, or n, 
or 13, the original number is divisible by the same divisor; other- 
wise, not 

For example, suppose we have the number 654, 73^ By the rule, 
we separate it into two parts, 654 and 731. We subtract 654 from 
731 and find the remainder to be 77. This we easily see is divisible 
by 7, and also by 11, but not by 13. We conclude, therefore, that 
the number 654,731 is divisible by 7 and also by 11, but not by 13; 
and this is true. 

The reason why this rule holds, lies in this, that the number 1,001, 
celebrated in the famous Arabian Nights' Entertainments, is not ca- 
priciously obtained by the addition of a single unit to the round thou- 
sand, on the principle upon which is based the phrase "forever and 
a day "; but is the continued product of the three numbers 7, 11, and 
13. Seven times eleven is seventy-seven, and thirteen times seventy- 




seven is one thousand and one. Accordingly, any number divisible 
by 1,001 is divisible by all three of its factors, 7, n, and 13 ; and, if 
what is left of the number after the division by 1,001 is divisible by 
any of these factors, the whole number is divisible by the same 
factor; otherwise, not. The separation of the number into two 
parts, and the subtraction of one of these from the other, is a short 
way of ascertaining the remainder after a division by 1,001, when the 
former part is less than the latter, and is substantially the same thing, 
as far as our purpose is concerned, when it is greater. 

For finding out whether numbers less than 1,000 are divisible by 7, 
11, or 13, there are certain rules, differing, however, for each divisor. 
Again, we must separate the number into two parts, this time by de- 
taching the hist two figures. For 7, we double the former part and 
add it to the latter ; for n, we add the former part to the latter with- 
out change ; and for 13, we multiply the former part by 9 before add- 
ing. In every case, if the sum obtained by the addition is divisible 
by 7, 11, or 13, the original number is divisible by the same ; other- 
wise, not. 

For instance, the number 1,876, which marked the Centennial year, 
is seen to be divisible by 7, when we separate it into two parts, 18 
and 76, and, after doubling the former, add 36 to 76, obtaining 112, 
which is divisible by 7. But 1,876 is not divisible by 11, since 18 and 
76 added together give 94, which is not divisible by 11 ; nor is it 
divisible by 13, as the application of the rule will show. In 1,870, we 
find a number divisible by ir, since 18 and 70 together make 88, 
which is a multiple of 11 ; and in 1,872, one divisible by 13, since 9 
times 18, or 162, added to 72, gives us 234, which is divisible by 13. 

It may no doubt be suggested that these rules arc of no particular 
use, since their application in the case of the smaller numbers may be 
as troublesome as the trial of the divisor itself. But they are not the 
less interesting as showing not only that "figures never lie," but may 
be made to betray their own secrets, and they may be made of use in 
verifying computations into which any of the weird numbers to 
which they relate enters as a factor. Charles Hale. 

A very, very little boy sends in a little letter this puzzle for other 
very little boys to find out. It speaks for itself. 

O. I. C. U. R. A. B. 

Effie. — We cannot share the enthusiasm of those deluded persons 
who hoard up defaced and used U. S. postage-stamps, in the vague 
"hope that a certain large number of thousands of the worthless 
things will bring a tremendous price somelwiv and somewJicrc. The 
postal authorities say that these old stamps are worth simply their 
weight in old paper. 

Many boys and girls wrote answers to the question printed in the 
March "Letter-Box" — What becomes of the earth which the chip- 
munk throws out of his burrow, or that he does not throw out? The 
letters were forwarded to the firm of book-publishers who promised a 
volume to the writer of the best answer. These gentlemen, however. 
found that two writers equally deserved the prize ; and so, although 
they had promised but one volume, still, rather than disappoint either in 
settling the choice by lot, they sent one to each of the two winners : 
Edgar A. Small, Hagerstown, Md. ; and Willie W. Greenwood, 
Newark, Wayne County, N. Y. The successful answers agree 
in saying that the chipmunk carries in his cheek-pouches the earth 
dug in burrowing, and drops it at some distance from the hole. 

Answers were received, before March 20, from N. L. Herzog — W. 
H. Merriam— C. Davis— M. L. Willets— I. and W. P. Morris— A. 
M. Keiffe — B. Sauerwein — D. A. Harrison — W. P. Woodward — A 
Ward— A. M. Gordon— E. K. Ballard— L. Merillat, Jr.— H. M. 
Carson — R. E. Carson — S. Casey— R- A. Gaily — A. Macrum — K. 
L. Spencer — A. Hays — F. E. Harndon — G. B. Hoppin — C. Y. Ab- 
bott-A. G. Bull— C. H. Buell— G. T. Hudson— S. Hawkins— K. R. 
Spencer — N. Granbery — L. H. Foster — S. Sprague — A. E. Leon— 
N. Ludlow, Jr.— I. V. L. Pierson— W. A. Calkins— O. O. Page— 
B. Page— M. H. Tatnall— H. R. M. Thorn— S. B. Robbins— F. G 

Lane— L. H. D. St. Vrain— M. Bunten— C. Du Puy— N. De Graff 
— C. A. Home— C. D. Cook— V. Wilson— C. L. Therrill— B. G. 
Goodhue— O. M. Sibley — M. W. H. Thurston— F. W. Porter— L. 
M. Cone— S. Vankeuren— H. M. Knapp— E. Dolbear— M. Mensch 
— G. Porter— E. L. Caswell— E. Bond— E. B. Halsey— L. B. Tal- 
cott— E. Hunt— B. Gortner— E. S. Gilbert— J. F. Hopkins— L. 
Byrns— B. Lynn— G. T. Trembly— W. M. Gibson — N. Holmes— 
L. Hughes— E. H. Gregory— W. C. Grant— M. Robinson— G. W. 
Currier — F. Johnston — W. Kennedy— G. L. Hawkes — J. Trefren— 
R. S. Elliott— G. H. Stuart— H. G. Hanna— S. Dauchy— M. A. 
Jordan— S. M. Coe— W. T. Mandeville— F. Thompson— C W. 
Lord— T. B. McCoy— A. C. Beebe— W. D. Hulbert— G. B. Adams 
—A. L Tucker— L. Frye— L. Weld— W. D. Sammis— G. K. Davol 
— L. H. Allyn— J. P. Monlross— H. D. Thompson- G. Parks— C. 
Bradley— C. Thompson— J. R. Blake— F. B. Warren— E. G. Banta 
-N. Holloway— T>. Williams— E. Williams— H. J. Koehler— G. 
Gifford— C. K. Linson— A. P. Burt— B. M. L.— S. B. Franklin— W. 
E. Owens— M. E. Hotchkiss— E. Bridge— F. G. Easterday— M. 
Thompson— S. M. Hough— G. E. Jester— W. T. Gillinder— F. Paul 
— E. Hills— K. Birks— W. Wells— H. Bennett— B. H. Williams— M. 
L. Fenimore— R. B. Deane— H. Redfield— L. M. Follett— M. Chap- 
man— N. W. B.— B. Jackson— J. Critchett— A. A. Jackson— C. C. 
Wright— J. M. Francis — Mina Gomph,— A, Tweedy, of Plymouth, 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little girl eight years old. My 
sister is six years old, and her name is Helen. We take you together. 
My oldest sister Susie told me to ask the children what was the 
oldest country in the world, she says it is Farther India, "Father" 
India, you know. — From your friend Gipsie Frayne. 

Dear St. Nicholas: We have at our house a fowl which has 
changed its color. The first year we had it, it was a bright red color, 
the second year it was speckled with white and red, and now it is a 
pure white. — Yours truly, W. J. B. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Can any of your readers tell me what is the 
only green flower in the world. And what is the name of a little 
bell-shaped flower that is first green, but soon turns to a rich brown ? 
The second has a delicious fruit, something like a banana. — Yours, 

W. E B. 

Louis P. B. — A vague outline of land in the Southern Ocean, 
near where Australia proved to be, appears upon maps made by Por- 
tuguese sailors in A. D. 1542. McCulloch's " Geographical Diction- 
ary" tells us that the Dutch vessel, "Duyfken," in 1606, sighted 
the Australian coast. From " Early Voyages to Australia" (edited 
by R. H. Major) we learn that Australia was reached by the "Duyf- 
ken " in March, 1606, and that, about five months later, a ship commis- 
sioned by the Spanish government of Peru, and commanded by 
Torres, sailed through the strait that now bears his name, and touched 
at Australia. It is probable, however, that the Chinese, who seem to 
have been ahead in nearly everything else, knew about the "Island 
continent" long before the Europeans "discovered" it. 

Answers were received, before March 20, from J. Harry Browne 
—Anna McEwen — May S. Wilkinson— R. B. Salter, Jr.— John B. 
Embick— G. Meade Emory— Guv T. Trembly— Eliza C. McNeill— 
Chas. P. Johnston— W. M. P.— " Chenery "— S. D. S., Jr.— " Inez " 
Ethel A. W.— Gertie Lathrop — Lillian Roche— Bennie T.— Dion 
Williams — Graham F. Putnam — Katy Flemming — B. M. L. — Frank 
Boyd — Florence E. T. — Clara M. Phelps — Helen .G. Wallace — Laura 
Skeen — " Georgie " — Ben Ames — and Margaret Evcrsher, of 
Guildford, England. 

Carolina M. Caldwell asks: "Will you please tell me of an 
orphan asylum that really needs dolls and picture-books? " 

In answer to this, "Aunt Fanny" writes: "The better-known 
institutions are well supplied, hut there is the ' Diet Kitchen,' comer 
of Ninth Avenue and Thirty-fourth Street, New York, where medi- 
cine and food are given to poor babies and children. Only think 
how gladly the mothers would take home toys, to amuse the small 
sufferers ! And if your good people are broad-hearted, as we Prot- 
estants should be, and do not refuse toys to poor children because 
their parents may hold a different religion, there is no charity for 
children which needs help of all kinds so much as the Franciscan 
Home, at Peekskill. The toys can be sent to their house in West 
Thirty-first street, between Sixth and Seventh avenues, next door to 
the church. There are eighty children in their country home, and 
they are very poor. 






i. I am healthy; put a stroke through one of my letters, and I 
become deep dislike. 2. I am a small valley; add a stroke to one of 
my letters, and I become a fruit. 3. J am a spacious room ; draw a 
short line across one of my letters, and I become a command welcome 
to the soldier after a long day's march. dycie. 


Four parts have I of varied sounds ; 

The power of kings in me abounds. 

My first is felt of God above, — 

A kind of fear that mates with love; 

My second 's seen in melting snows; 

My third a hardy cereal grows; 

My fourth is called a cheering' cup; 

Now tell my whole, or give me up. s. L. P. 


1. Cunning. 2. A sharp tool. 3. Blue. 4. Shape*. 5. A ringlet. 


there May be a pass; I 'm the whole of the happy drop of the 
meadow-grass, as will seem to them above The rain and they to May 
be brighten to be day, and mother, I 'm not upon the livelong go. 

II. a bear of great resolution, from the country with the name of 
something that puzzles the native cowards is cast to the currents of 
pale hue rather than have these and the sicklied traveler sweat and 
weary, grunt, and thus lose the undiscovered conscience, but we 
know 'we thought— thus does this dread bear, of pith with life Who 
makes us death and ills, returns not others after those that would make 
their fardels turn o'er to us, all of whose will and moment of action 
fly bourn awry — and under no regard of enterprises? 

III. yonder the sightless lark becomes a loud and lovelier hue, 
Now drown'd in a long blue woodland the living distance rings and 
takes the song. 


Each of the following puzzles is to be solved by forming a series 
of words, building the words by adding one letter at a time, and 
sometimes changing the order of the letters. For example: the 
words tea, tape, prate, tapers, repeats, would form one such series; 
ass, seas, seams, sesame, measles, would make another. 

I. Inflammable air, 

By one letter, with ease, 
You may make into clothes 

Old and worn, if you please. 
These to something sweet-tasting, 

Now change in like manner; 
That, next, to a squadron 

Of troops with a banner. 

II. Frame now for me, 

Of letters three, 
A woman, vow'd In single life to live; 

Now add one more — 

So making four — 
And change her to a substantive. 

One more to this — 

A vowel 't is — 
Join, and you '11 get a joining, as I hope 

Change and add one; 

When this is done, 
You have a messenger sent by the Pope. 

What animal is this, and what is the 
animal doing? What flowers are 
these? What parts of what animal's 
head are here ? These three ques- 
tions can be answered with one word ; 
what is the word? 



The same eleven letters, naming an old spring-time custom of 
New England, are omitted from each stanza. 

Ten boys and girls, — a merry *****, — 

Long years ago we went a-****** ; 
Gathering flowers in the lane, 

And o'er the sunny hill-side straying. 

My memr'y lingers, — well i* ***, — 

O'er relics of the past remaining, 
Dried blossoms of that far-off day, 

That knew no cloud nor hint of *******. 

The skies were bright ; how could i* ****? 

Oh ! 't was a joyous, blissful ****** ! 
Your Grandpa sought my love to gain, 

And we were wed ere time of haying. 

We took no wedding tour, — no, no ! 

That custom has of late been gaining; 
But we were well content to go 

Among the crowd to see *** ******** lilian. 


Each of the following examples is formed from a piece of poetry, 
the words being misplaced, but otherwise correct. The problem is 
to give the work from which the piece is quoted, and to arrange the 
words in their proper order. Each quotation is from a well-known 
writer, and is but one sentence. 

I. Queen o' the stars, and Queen o' the night-winds, mother come 


A knock at the door 
I change, if I wish, 

With one letter into 
A long-living fish. 

Then that, in like manner, 
If you have a mind, 

To what mourners wear 
Can be changed, you find. 

With a consonant now 

Make what covers the floor, 
And a part of a book 

Out of that and one more. f****s. 


The initials name an important commercial city of Northern Eu- 
rope, the finals name the country in which the city is situated. 

Cross Words: 1. An important city of Pennsylvania. 2 A city of 
Turkey in Europe. 3. An island of Africa. 4. A small kingdom of 
Europe. 5. A city of New York. 6. A river and bay of New Jersey. 
7. A city and bay of Ireland. w. T. burns. 


Horizontals : 1. An ancient chest. 2. To turn around swiftly. 

3. Pertaining to the mountains of a certain small country in Europe. 

4. To render linen stiff. 5. Of profit. 6. The chief of a religious 
order of women. Diagonal, from left to right downward : The ancient 
name of a celebrated island of the Mediterranean Sea. 


If naught occur to foil, 
I coil, uncoil and coil 
In never ending toil. 

Down from the hill's hush, 
Down to the stream's rush, 
My lonely way I push. 

Great fear I cause ; 
My wildness draws, 
From crowds, applause 

My gracious reign I hold 
When daffodils unfold 
Their tender green and gold. 
L. W. H. 


1. A pair or support. 
4. A leap, a pickled bud. 

2. Part of a fortification. 3. To render fit. 
5. A sentinel decapitated, an entrance. 





Name the persons and places mentioned in the following scenes; 
and give the dates, where these are known : 

I. A venerable man, dressed in a costume of ancient times, holds 
in his hand a bowl of some liquid which he is about to drink. As he 
raises the bowl to his lips, a smile lights up his face; but the persons 
gathered about him are shedding tears.^ 

II. In a castle on the banks oj the river "Loire, a king of France 
is gazing with terror upon the 
body of a man just killed by his 
order. The king cries : " How 
tall he is! He looks taller than 
when he was alive ! " 

III. A king of ancient times, 
unable to untie a very compli- 
cated knot, cut it through with 
a blow of his sword. This he 
did that he might fulfill a certain 

IV. A man, moved by some 
deep feeling, is leaning upon a 
cross-bow, while a boy runs to 
him holding an apple cut in 
pieces as if an arrow had passed 
through it. 

V. A Northman, just made a 
duke, and therefore a vassal of 
a king of France, presents him- 
self to do homage by kissing the 
king's foot according to the law 
of the time. Being too proud to 
do this, the duke has bidden one 
of his warriors perform the act 
for him. But the man, remain- 
ing bolt upright, takes hold of 
the foot and raises it to his 
mouth, thus throwing the king 

VI. A glade in a forest. Na- 
tives of the land are gathered 
about a group of three persons ; 
one of these kneels, his hands 
bound; another is in the act of 
throwing herself upon him ; the 
third has swung up above the 
two a heavy club, which is about 
to fall. T. 


T. My i, 2, 3 is a carriage. 
My 4, 5, 6 is to confine. My 

7, 8, 9 is to make an effort. 
My i, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 is a 
useful trade. II. My 1, 2, 3 is 
unwell. My 4 is a numeral. 
My 5, 6, 7 is a nickname given 
to a dweller in a city. My 1, 2, 
3) 4, 5, 6, 7 is unlawful. III. 
My 1, 2, 3 is a luscious fruit. 
My 4 is a letter which sounds 
like the name of a tree. My 5, 
6. 7 is an animal that gnaws. 
My S, 9 is a Roman numeral. 
My 10, n, 12 is a cathedral town of England. My 1, 2, 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 

8, 9, 10, ii ( 12 is in a metaphorical sense. 

milk, and leave to crowd and crush. 6. Syncopate sordid, and leave 
a kind of meat. 7. Syncopate angered, and leave fifteen hundred. 
The syncopated letters spell the name of a flower. E. B. c. 


1. Behead throat, and leave barley. 2. Behead and curtail a 
number, and leave a king. 3. Behead punished, and leave united. 

4. Behead after, and leave near. 

5. Curtail under, and leave a 
half-penny. 6. Curtail a French 
province, and leave a hand. 7. 
Behead a level piece of land, and 
leave wool. 8. Behead a camel, 
and leave a small village. 9. 
Curtail a blow, and leave a neck. 
10. Curtail a city, and leave a 
wager. 11. Behead a large 
pleasure ground, and leave a 
bow. 12. Behead a city, and 
leave a bear. j. T. M. 


In the accompanying picture 
are represented twenty-three ob- 
jects, which, when suitably 
named, denote twenty-three 
terms and articles pertaining to 
the game of Base-Ball. 




Easy Square Word. — 1. 
Nadir. 2. Adore 3. Doves. 
4. Irene. 5. Reset. 

Diamond. — 1. A. 2. ROd. 
3. CoCoa. 4. DOe. 5. A. 

Difficult Double Acros- 
tic. — Oliver Goldsmith — Desert- 
ed Village. Cross-words : Old- 
fielD, LockE, IgnatiuS, Veron- 
esE, EasteR, RoberT, GreenE, 
OdD, LV, Disraeli, SamueL, 
MarvelL, IsabellA, ThinG, Hor- 

acE. Picture Puzzle. — 

Moor- Room. 

Drop-letter Words. — 1. 
Kilimandjaro, 2. Ararat. 3. 
Kong. 4. Atlas. 5. Alps. 6. 
Ural. 7. Soliman. 

Syncopations. — i. Re-g-al. 
2. Me-d-al. 3. Sta-b-Ie. 4. 
Ra-p-id. 5. T-r-ench. 6. G- 

r-um. Metagram. — April. 

Hour-Glass— 1. Chair. 2. Ode. 3. D. 4. Ale. 5. Needs. 
Buried Cities.— One in each line. Tyre, Leith, Pau, Derby, 
Waterloo, Rome, Lee, Ghent, Gath, Agra, Perth, Kew, Stoke, 

Sedan, Aden, Ayr. Easy Enigma. — Canary. 

Easy Double Acrostic. — Edinburgh — Liverpool. Cross-words, 
— EarL, Delhi, IV., NavE, BuckleR, UP, RialtO, GiottO, HoveL. 

Numerical Enigma. — April showers. Riddle. — Chap. I. 

Pictorial Anagrams. — 1. Anchor. 2. Hav jer. 3. Dolphin. 4. 
Shoulder. 5. Mouths. 6. Fingers. 7. Eyebrows. 8. Elbows. 9. 
Lobster. 10. Trident. 11. Handle. 12, Tails. 

" Two little bees " send from Fontainebleau, France, five correct solutions of February puzzles, too late for acknowledgment in April. 

Answers to Puzzles in the March Number were received, before March 20, from H. S. M., 1— S. D. C , 1 — D. L. V., 3 — W. R., 1 
_H. T., 2— H. S. W., 3— H. S. M., 3— E. C. O., q— R. B. S., 7— A. F. D., t— A. S. W., 8— K. L. S-, 7— E. S. B., i_"Two Cousins," 
2— G. and W. H., 1— M. B. C, i-L. H. D. Sl V.', 7— F. S. N. B. f 8— M. A., 1— A. B., 10— S. M., 1— B. W. McK., 8— E. T. C, 2— 
G. T. T., 4— A. and H. I., 1— O. H. C, 1— G. and E. J., 2— M. H., 1— J. B. L., 5— C. T. G., 10— F. E. P., 8— E. P., 2— N. E. H., 1— 
W. W. G., 1— T. R. and W. H. 2— E. S. B., 1— D. and P., 6— M. S., 4— J. C, 1— F. T., 1— G. S., 1— A. M. K. p 9— F. E. C, 5— P B., 
1— E. M. B., 7— "C," 6— W. and L., 4— < 'H.," 2— G. L and L. R., 2— F. McC, 1— P. J., 3— W. T. B., 5— H. U., 1— B. H. and E. M., 
S— G. L. C, 11— W. D. B, 1— A. C. W., 3 _L. L. Van L., 7— W. F. S., 2— "B.," 4 — C. M. T.. 10— L. and N. C, 5 — O. L. S., Jr., 3— 
L. H., 6— "Hallie,'' 3— A. P. B., 1— M. T. K., 1— A. G. B., 1— D. E. E., s— W. H. W., 8— W. R. L., 8— « Blankes," n— H. T., 5— A. 
' E. and E. W., 8— C. A., 1— B. T. K., i-B. S., 5— W., 3— A. M., 6— M. S. McL, 10— B. T., 2— V. D'O. S. S., 6— W. B. G., 6— D. L., 3— 
M L. F., 2— H. and B., n— "B. O. R. M. C," 6— R. H. R , 8— " R. and C," 0— C. H. E., 5— J. W. J., 6— B. B. G , 1— R. B. D., 1 
H. L. and Co., "B. and Cousin," 11— B. H. W., 1— M„ 2— W. and L., 8— "Riddlers," 4— W. C. McC, 4— G. H., 5— R. A. G., 6— A. 
T. H., 7—O. C. T., 10— L. P., 3— F. W., 7— C. H. McB., 6— B. C. B., 4— A. A. J., 4— C J. F., 3— A. R., 5— J. E., 4— C. and R. F., 
5— L. G. S., 8— F. D. R., 1— L. C, s— M. N. A., 8— E, and J. B. P., 7— A. H. G-, 6— H. C. B., 9— M. and C. L., 4— "X. Y. Z.," 2 
— L. A. and E. M P., 4— A. D. R., 1— E. V., 8— "Hallie," 1— A. M. P., 6—0. G. V., 3— M. F. H. D., 11— C. and M. S., 4— "Baraboo, 
Wis.," 3— C. B. H.. Jr., 1— J. P., 6— J. W. K., 5— C. L. N., 5— W. S. J., 5— H. E. W., 5— C. and G. H., 11— O. B. and C. F. J., 7— 
H. P. M., 7 — C. & Co., 7 — A. L. S., 4 — D. W., 4 — T. B. and J. B. H., 7 — and J. S., 4. Numerals denote number of puzzles solved. 


1. Syncopate a story, and leave an old name for Christmas. 2. 
Syncopate to beguile, and leave to converse in a friendly way. 3. 
Syncopate a sea-stone, and leave a mineral. 4. Syncopate a mu- 
tineer, and leave a kind of dancing. 5. Syncopate a part of new 



Vol. VII. 

JUNE, 1880. 

No. 8. 

Copyright, 1880, by Scribner & Co.] 

By Mary Wager Fisher. 

May Marsh was five years old, and lived in a 
country village in central New York, where her 
papa kept a store. Her grandmamma, Mrs. 
Stone, lived in the same street, four doors away. 
Little Miss May, as the villagers called her, was a 
chubby little girl, with a round, pink and white 
face, a little pug nose, large blue eyes, a pretty 
large mouth with two rows of small, white teeth, 
and her hair was "banged" all around. All day 
she was as busy as a bee in summer time, swinging 
in the yard, playing at see-saw with her sister 
Nelly, or skipping upstairs and down, singing — 

" Over the bills and far away ! " 

which were all the words she knew of a song she 
had heard somewhere. These words seemed to be, 
for her, quite enough ; and for the other lines she 
would hum 

" La, la, la," 

and then, with all her little voice, as if breaking 
forth afresh, sing bravely out : 

''Over the hills and far away ! " 

Sometimes she would trudge about so gravely, 
and with so business-like an air, as to greatly 
amuse the housemaid, who, suspecting some mis- 
chief, would ask : 

"Well, what now, little Miss May?" 

" Oh, I is very busy to-day ! I 've my doll's 
stockings and skirts to wash ; they 're awful dirty. 
She 's such a lazy doll that, if I did n't make her 
get up, she would lie right in the dirt on the floor 
all day long, so that it takes half my time to keep 
that doll looking 'spectable, it does." 

With all her active ways, May was a very good 

VOL. VII.— 40. 

child, excepting one fault, and I am sure no boy 
nor girl couid ever guess what that was. 

She would sew on Sunday ! 

Not that she could sew much, only with a 
needleful of thread. She would stick it back and 
forth through a piece of cloth, tangling the thread 
and making very long stitches. During week days 
she never wanted to sew, but the moment her 
Sunday morning breakfast was over, she would 
give nobody any peace until she had a needle 
threaded for her, when she would sit as patiently 
at her sewing as if she were a paid little seam- 
stress. Her mamma was sorry to have her little 
girl sew on Sunday, but said little about it, think- 
ing she would cease to care for it, after a time. 
But, as the weeks passed on, May seemed in a 
fair way to sew on eVery Sunday, as long as she 
lived. At length her mother decided to forbid 
her having a needle, and on the following Sunday 
morning, calling May to her, she said : 

" You cannot sew to-day, May." 

"Why not to-day, mamma?" 

" Because it is Sunday ! " 

" Well, what if it be Sunday ? " 

" God does n't like to have little girls sew on 

" Who is God, mamma ? " 

" God made you, dear." 

" Where is God, mamma? " 

" He is everywhere." 

" Then He is here, mamma ? " 

" Yes, dear." 

" In this room ? " 


" Then He is in my pocket, mamma?" 

" You must not talk so," said mamma, very 




much startled. " God is everywhere because He 
sees and knows everything you do. Now put 
away your sewing." 

May slowly obeyed, and took the matter so to 
heart that she pouted all through church service, 
and at night, when the maid brought her supper, 
she said she was not going to live at home any 
more, but would move to her grandmamma's. 

Next morning, May appeared at the breakfast- 
table, wearing a very determined look ; in one 
hand she held her night-gown, and in the other 
her doll. Her papa kissed her, and looking at her 
night-dress asked what she was going to do with it. 

"I is not going to live here any more," she 
replied, winking her eyes very hard. 

" And where does little Miss May propose to 
live ? " asked her papa. 

" With grandmamma. I is tired staying here." 

Her mother smiled; then, looking sad, she said 
she would then have only one little girl, but that 
Nelly would comfort her. At this, May looked 
straight at her plate, and ate her bread and butter 
very fast without a word more. When the meal 
was over she jumped down, and running into the 
hall for her bonnet, went back to the breakfast- 
room for her doll and night-gown. 

" I is going now, mamma," she said. 

" But if you are to live here no more," said her 
father, " you will have no papa, and mamma 
will not be your mamma. You will have to say 
Mr. and Mrs. Marsh, and, when you come here, 
you will have to ring the door-bell, and you will be 
Little Miss Stone." 

May had no answer for that, but stood twirling 
her bonnet-strings. At last, turning desperately 
toward the door, she said : 

" Well, I don't care ! Grandmamma will let me 
sew on Sunday, /know ! Wont she, Nelly ?" 

Nelly said she " guessed not," whereupon May 
drew her bonnet over her face and, hugging her 
doll and night-gown, started for her grandmother's. 
Nelly watched her from the window, laughing at 
the little figure trudging down the sidewalk, mov- 
ing as if she already had begun to battle with the 
hard things of life. 

" We won't say anything to her, will we, mam- 
ma?" said Nelly, as May turned in at her grand- 
mother's ; " and I guess she '11 be glad enough to 
come back before night." 

May went in without knocking, and told her 
grandmamma that she had come to "live with her, 
— live with her always." 

Mrs. Stone, amused at the child's decided man- 
ner, said she would be very glad to have a little 
girl to live with her. When she asked her why she 
had left home, May replied : 

" Mamma 'buses me ; 1 is tired living there." 

May very soon was busy giving her doll its 
breakfast, which seemed to be a vexing task, as 
often happened; after a good deal of scolding, she 
shook the doll, and, putting it down hard in a 
chair, exclaimed: "You ought just to starve, you 
ought, you naughty little thing ! " 

But, after a while, tired of being alone, and 
missing Nelly, she asked her grandmother for a 
couple of pennies to go to the store and buy her 
doll a frock. Mrs. Stone gave her the money, and 
May started for her father's store. Nelly, who saw 
her coming up the walk, shouted to her mother 
that May was "coming back"; still, May never 
once looked at the house, but walked straight past 
it. She held the two pennies tightly in her hand, 
and walking to the counter, where she saw her 
father, said : 

" Papa," — and then stopping, as if remembering 
something, — " Mr. Marsh, I want to buy my doll a 

Her papa acted as if he did not know her, and 
taking down some pink calico, asked her if that 
would do. She said " Yes," and he cut her off a 
yard. She put her two cents on the counter, when 
Mr. Marsh told her that the money was not enough ; 
then, looking soberly down into her face, he asked 
whose little girl she was. 

" I is my grandmamma's." 

" And what is your name ? " 

" I is Little— Little Miss Stone." 

"Ah, yes, I see," said her father. "Well, lam 
not acquainted with any Little Miss Stone, so I 'm 
afraid I can 't let you have the caliGO." 

May's lips began to tremble and her brave little 
stock of bravado to give way, when one of the 
villagers, who had been standing near, slipped a ten 
cent piece into her hand ; this she quickly placed 
on the counter, and then, with an air of victory, 
she walked away with her calico. 

Time passed happily enough at her grand- 
mother's until the doll's dress was made, which 
happened at about five o'clock in the afternoon. 
May was then anxious to show it to Nelly. Full 
of this idea, and forgetting how she had left home 
in the morning, May put on her bonnet and ran 
back with her doll, rushing into the house without 
ringing, and exclaiming: 

" See, Nelly, my doll's new frock ! " 

"Ah, what young lady have we here?" asked 
Mrs. Marsh, in surprise. 

"This is Little Miss Stone," said Nelly, 

"Little Miss Stone? Indeed! And is Little 
Miss Stone well to-day ? " continued her mother. 

Poor May was driven quite to her wit's end. She 
had had the habit, ever since she could talk, of put- 
ting her hands over her ears when she wished to say 




something that a third person should not hear. So, 
quickly clapping her fat little hands over her own 
ears, she put her face close to Nelly's, and 
shouted : 

"I is not Little Miss Stone; you is very much 

" Why, yes you are," laughed Nelly. " I guess 
you 've forgotten ! " 

Their mother pretended not to have heard May's 
remark, and continued : 

" I think, Nelly dear, we will go out pretty soon 
to look all around for a little sister for you. 
Perhaps Little Miss Stone can tell 
us where to find a little girl who 
will be glad to live here ; to play 
with Nelly, and sleep with her, and 
have the same papa and mamma 
that Nelly has." 

It was plain to see that a struggle 
was going on in little May's heart, 
for she looked first at her mother 
anxiously, then at Nelly, when her 
eyes caught sight of a 
beautiful little round 
pumpkin-pie that stood 
on the table. Now, if 
there was anything of 
which May was espe- 
cially fond, it was pump- 
kin-pie, and an aunt of 
hers often sent her a 
small one. The sight 
of the pie drove all her 
sorrows from her mind, 
and clapping her hands 
she was about to seize 
it, when Mrs. Marsh, 
who was already tying 
Nelly's bonnet strings 
for their walk, said : 

"That pumpkin-pie was sent to our house 
by Aunt George for our little girl who moved 
away this morning ; she got tired of staying here, 
and went to live with her grandmother, so she 
could sew on Sunday ! Now, we must go out 
and look for another little May, to be a sister to 
Nelly, and to eat the pumpkin-pie." 

Mrs. Marsh moved toward the door, when May, 
no longer able to control her feelings, burst into 
tears, and, hiding her face in her mamma's frock, 
sobbed as if her heart would break. 

"Don't cry, May," begged Nelly, soothingly. 
" Mamma 's only in fun ! Mamma, this is May j 

really, mamma, it is May. I told you all along 
she 'd come back ! " 

At this moment Mr. Marsh came in, and seeing 
his little girl in trouble, caught her up in his arms, 
exclaiming : 

"Well! And what has become of Little Miss 

"I guess site's runned away," answered May, 
her eyes shining through her tears, and turning 
longingly toward the pumpkin-pie, which she was 
soon permitted to eat, while her papa and mam- 
ma looked on, with satisfied smiles. In half an 
hour, she was quite at home 
again, and singing her old song: 

"Over the hills and_/«r away." 


But for a long time the only reproof the happy 
little girl needed for asking leave to sew on 
Sunday, or for any other fault, was to remind her 
of Little Miss Stone. 




. fiBi 
if? 1 


By Lydia Maria Child. 

Poor Johnny was bended well nigh double 
With years of toil, and care, and trouble ; 
But his large old heart still felt the need 
Of doing for others some kindly deed. 

"But what can I do?" old Johnny said; 
" I who work so hard for daily bread ? 

It takes heaps of money to do much good ; 

I am far too poor to do as I would." 

The old man sat thinking deeply a while, 

Then over his features gleamed a smile, 

And he clapped his hands with a boyish 

And said to himself, " There 's a way for 

me ! " 

He worked, and he worked with ' might and 

But no one knew the plan in his brain. 
He took ripe apples in pay for chores, 
And carefully cut from them all the cores. 

He filled a bag full, then wandered away, 
And no man saw him for many a day. 
With knapsack over his shoulder slung, 
He marched along, and whistled or sung. 

He seemed to roam with no object in view, 
Like one who had nothing on earth to do; 

But, journeying thus o'er the prairies wide, 
He paused now and then, and his bag untied. 

With pointed cane deep holes he would bore, 
And in ev'ry hole he placed a core ; 
Then covered them well, and left them there 
In keeping of sunshine, rain, and air. 

Sometimes for days he waded through grass, 
And saw not a living creature pass, 
But often, when sinking to sleep in the dark, 
He heard the owls hoot and the prairie-dogs 

Sometimes an Indian of sturdy limb 
Came striding along and walked with him; 
And he who had food shared with the other, 
As if he had met a hungry brother. 

When the Indian saw how the bag was filled, 
And looked at the holes that the white man 

He thought to himself 't was a silly plan 
To be planting seed for some future man. 

Sometimes a log cabin came in view, 
Where Johnny was sure to find jobs to do, 
By which he gained stores of bread and meat, 
And welcome rest for his weary feet. 




He had full many a story to tell, 
And goodly hymns that he sung right well; 
He tossed up the babes, and joined the boys 
In many a game full of fun and noise. 

And he seemed so hearty, in work or play, 
Men, women, and boys all urged him to 

But he always said, "I have something to do, 
And I must go on to carry it through." 

The boys, who were sure to follow him round, 
Soon found what it was he put in the 

ground ; 
And so, as time passed and he traveled on, 
Ev'ry one called him "Old Apple-seed John." 

Whenever he 'd used the whole of his store, 
He went into cities and worked for more ; 
Then he marched back to the wilds again, 
And planted seed on hill-side and plain. 

In cities, some said the old man was crazy ; 
While others said he was only lazy ; 
But he took no notice of gibes and jeers, 
He knew he was working for future vears. 

He knew that trees would soon abound 
Where once a tree could not have been found ; 
That a flick'ring play of light and shade 
Would dance and glimmer along the glade; 

That blossoming sprays would form fair bowers, 
And sprinkle the grass with rosy showers ; 
And the little seeds his hands had spread 
Would become ripe apples when he was dead. 

So he kept on traveling far and wide, 
Till his old limbs failed him, and he died. 
He said at the last, '"T is a comfort to feel 
I 've done good in the world, though not a 
great deal." 

Weary travelers, journeying west, 
In the shade of his trees find pleasant rest. 
And they often start, with glad surprise, 
At the rosy fruit that round them lies. 

And if they inquire whence came such trees, 
Where not a bough once swayed in the breeze, 
The answer still comes, as they travel on, 
These trees were planted by Apple-seed John." 


By Louisa M. Alcott. 

Chapter XIII. 


"What is the matter? Does your head ache?" 
asked Jill, one evening in March, observing that 
Jack sat with his head in his hands, an attitude 
which, with him, meant either pain or perplexity. 

" No; but I 'm bothered. I want some money, 
and I don't see how I can earn it," he answered, 

* Copyright, 1879, by Louisa M. Alcott, 

tumbling his hair about, and frowning darkly at 
the fire. 

"How much?" and Jill's ready hand went to 
the pocket where her little purse lay, for she felt 
rich with several presents lately made her. 

" Two seventy-five. No, thank you, I wont 

"'What is it for?" 

" Can't tell." 

All rights reserved. 




"Why, I thought you told me everything." 

" Sorry, but I can't this time. Don't you worry ; 
I shall think of something. " 

" Could n't your mother help? " 

" Don't wish to ask her." 

" Why ! can't she know ? " 

" Nobody can." 

"How queer! Is it a scrape, Jack?" asked 
Jill, looking as curious as a magpie. 

"It is likely to be, if I can't get out of it this 
week, somehow." 

" Well, I don't see how I can help if I 'm not to 
know anything," and Jill seemed rather hurt. 

" You can just stop asking questions, and tell 
me how a fellow can earn some money. That 
would help. I 've got one dollar, but I must have 
some more," and Jack looked worried as he 
fingered the little gold dollar on his watch-guard. 

" Oh, do you mean to use that ? " 

" Yes, I do ; a man must pay his debts if he sells 
all he has to do it," said Jack, sternly. 

" Dear me ; it must be something very serious." 
And Jill lay quite still for five minutes, thinking 
over all the ways in which Jack ever did earn 
money, for Mrs. Minot liked to have her boys 
work, and paid them in some way for all they did. 

" Is there any wood to saw?" she asked, pres- 
ently, being very anxious to help. 

"All done." 

" Paths to shovel?" 

" No snow." 

" Lawn to rake, then ? " 

" Not time for that yet." 

" Catalogue of books?" 

" Frank got that job." • 

" Copy those letters for your mother?" 

" Take me too long. Must have my money 
Friday, if possible." 

" I don't see what we can do, then. It is too 
early or too late for everything, and you wont 

" Not of you. No, nor of any one else, if I can 
possibly help it. I 've promised to do this myself, 
and I will," and Jack wagged his head, resolutely. 

" Could n't you do something with the printing- 
press? Do me some cards, and then, perhaps, the 
other girls will want some," said Jill, as a forlorn 

"Just the thing! What a goose I was not to 
think of it. I '11 rig the old machine up at once." 
And, starting from his seat, Jack dived into the 
big closet, dragged out the little press, and fell to 
oiling, dusting and putting it in order, like one 
relieved of a great anxiety. 

"Give me the types; I '11 sort them and set 
up my name, so you can begin as soon as you are 
ready. You know what a help I was when we did 

the programmes? I 'm almost sure the girls will 
want cards, and I know your mother would like some 
more tags," said Jill, briskly rattling the letters 
into the different compartments, while Jack inked 
the rollers and hunted up his big apron, whistling 
the while with recovered spirits. 

A dozen neat cards were soon printed, and Jill 
insisted on paying six cents for them, as earning 
was not borrowing. A few odd tags were found 
and done for mamma, who immediately ordered 
four dozen at six cents a dozen, though she was not 
told why there was such a pressing call for money. 

Jack's monthly half-dollar had been spent the 
first week, — twenty-five cents for a concert, ten 
paid a fine for keeping a book too long from the 
library, ten more to have his knife ground, and 
five in candy, for he dearly loved sweeties, and was 
under bonds to mamma not to spend more than 
five cents a month on these unwholesome tempta- 
tions. She never asked the boys what they did 
with their money, but expected them to keep 
account in the little books she gave them; and, 
now and then, they showed the neat pages with 
pardonable pride, though she often laughed at the 
queer items. 

All that evening Jack & Co. worked busily, for 
when Frank came in he good-naturedly ordered 
some pale-pink cards for Annette, and ran to the 
store to choose the right shade, and buy some 
packages for the young printer also. 

" What do you suppose he is in such a pucker 
for?" whispered Jill, as she set up the new name, 
to Frank, who sat close by, with one eye on his 
book and one on her. 

" Oh, some notion. He 's a queer chap ; but I 
guess it is n't much of a scrape, or I should know 
it. He 's so good-natured he 's always promising 
to do things for people, and has too much pluck to 
give'up when he finds he can't. Let him alone, 
and it will all come out soon enough," answered 
Frank, who laughed at his brother, but loved him 
none the less for the tender heart that often got 
the better of his young head. 

But for once Frank was mistaken ; the mystery 
did not come out, and Jack worked like a beaver 
all that week, as orders poured in when Jill and 
Annette showed their elegant cards ; for, as every- 
body knows, if one girl has a new thing all the rest 
must, whether it is a bow dn the top of her head, a 
peculiar sort of pencil, or the latest kind of chew- 
ing-gum. Little play did the poor fellow get, for 
every spare minute was spent at the press, and no 
invitation could tempt him away, so much in ear- 
nest was our honest little Franklin about paying his 
debt. Jill helped all she could, and cheered his 
labors with her encouragement, remembering how 
he stayed at home for her. 




" It is real good of you to lend a hand, and I 'm 
ever so much obliged," said Jack, as the last order 
was struck off, and the drawer of the type-box held 
a pile of shining five and ten cent pieces, with two 
or three quarters. 

" I love to; only, it would be nicer if I knew 
what we were working for," she said, demurely, as 
she scattered type for the last time ; and seeing 
that Jack was bpth tired and grateful, hoped to get 
a hint of the secret. 

"I want to tell you, dreadfully; but I can't, 
because I 've promised." 

"What, never?" 

" Never ! " and Jack looked as firm as a rock. 

" Then I shall find out, for / have n't prom- 

" You can't." 

"See if I don't!" 

" You are sharp, but you wont guess this. It 's 
a tremendous secret, and nobody will tell it." 

" You '11 tell it yourself. You always do." 

" I wont tell this. It would be mean." 

" Wait and see; I can get anything out of you 
if I try," and Jill laughed, knowing her power well, 
for Jack found it very hard to keep a secret from 

"Don't try; please don't! It would n't be 
right, and you don't want to make me do a dis- 
honorable thing for your sake, I know." 

Jack looked so distressed that Jill promised not 
to make him tell, though she held herself free to 
find out in other ways, if she could. 

Thus relieved, Jack trudged off to school on 
Friday with the two dollars and seventy-five cents 
jingling in his pocket, though the dear gold coin 
had to be sacrificed to make up the sum. He did 
his lessons badly that day, was late at recess in the 
afternoon and, as soon as school was over, departed 
in his rubber boots "to take a walk," he said, 
though the roads were in a bad state with a spring 
thaw. Nothing was seen of him till after tea-time, 
when he came limping in, very dirty and tired, but 
with a reposeful expression, which betrayed that a 
load was off his mind. Frank was busy about his 
own affairs and paid little attention to him, but Jill 
was on tenter-hooks to know where he had been, 
yet dared not ask the question. 

" Merry's brother wants some cards. He liked 
hers so much he wishes to make his lady-love a 
present. Here 's the name," and Jill held up the 
order from Harry Grant, who was to be married in 
the autumn. 

" Must wait till next week. I 'm too tired to do 
a thing to-night, and I hate the sight of that old 
press," answered Jack, laying himself down upon 
the rug as if every joint ached. 

" What made you take such a long walk? You 

look as tired as if you 'd been ten miles," said 
Jill, hoping to discover the length of the trip. 

" Had to. Four or five miles is n't much, only 
my leg bothered me," and Jack gave the ailing 
member a slap, as if he had found it much in 
his way that day ; for, though he had given up the 
crutches long ago, he rather missed their support 
sometimes. Then, with a great yawn, he stretched 
himself out to bask in the blaze, pillowing his head 
on his arms. 

" Dear old thing, he looks all used up; I wont 
plague him with talking," and Jill began to sing, 
as she often did in the twilight. 

By the time the first song ended a gentle snore 
was heard, and Jack lay fast asleep, worn out with 
the busy week and the walk, which had been 
longer and harder than any one guessed. Jill took 
up her knitting and worked quietly by firelight, 
still wondering and guessing what the secret could 
be; for she had not much to amuse her, and little 
things were very interesting if connected with her 
friends. Presently, Jack rolled over and began to 
mutter in his sleep, as he often did when too weary 
for sound slumber. Jill paid no attention till he 
uttered a name which made her prick up her ears 
and listen to the broken sentences which followed. 
Only a few words, but she dropped her work, say- 
ing to herself: 

"I do believe he is talking about the secret. 
Now I shall find out, and he will tell me himself, 
as I said he would." 

Much pleased, she leaned and listened, but 
could make no sense of the confused babble about 
"heavy boots" ; "all right, old fellow"; "Jerry's 
off"; and "the ink is too thick." 

The slam of the front door woke Jack, and he 
pulled himself up, declaring that he believed he 
had been having a nap. 

" I wish you 'd have another," said Jill, greatly 
disappointed at the loss of the intelligence she 
seemed to be so near getting. 

" Floor is too hard for tired bones. Guess I '11 
go to bed and get rested up for Monday. I 've 
worked like fury this week, so next I 'm going in 
for fun ; " and, little dreaming what hard times were 
in store for him, Jack went off to enjoy his warm 
bath and welcome bed, where he was soon sleep- 
ing with the serene look of one whose dreams 
were happy, whose conscience was at rest. 

" I have a few words to say to you before you 
go," said Mr. Acton, pausing with his hand on the 
bell, Monday afternoon, when the hour came for 
dismissing school. 

The bustle of putting away books and preparing 
for as rapid a departure as propriety allowed, sub- 
sided suddenly, and the boys and girls sat as still 




as mice, while the hearts of such as had been 
guilty of any small sins began to beat fast. 

" You remember that we had some trouble last 
winter about keeping the boys away from the saloon, 
and that a rule was made forbidding any pupil to 
go to town during recess ? " began Mr. Acton, 
who, being a conscientious man as well as an 
excellent teacher, felt that he was responsible for 
the children in school hours, and did his best to 
aid parents in guarding them from the few tempt- 
ations which beset them in a country town. A 
certain attractive little shop, where confectionery, 
base-balls, stationery and picture papers were 
sold, was a favorite loafing place for some of the 
boys till the rule forbidding it was made, because 
in the rear of the shop was a beer and billiard 
saloon. A wise rule, for the picture papers were 
not always of the best sort ; cigars were to be had ; 
idle fellows hung about there, and some of the 
lads, who wanted to be thought manly, ventured 
to pass the green baize door "just to look on." 

A murmur answered the teacher's question, and 
he continued : 

" You all know that the rule was broken several 
times, and I told you the next offender would be 
publicly reprimanded, as private punishments had 
no effect. I am sorry to say that the time has 
come, and the offender is a boy whom I trusted 
entirely. It grieves me to do this, but I must keep 
my promise, and hope the example will have a 
good effect." 

Mr. Acton paused, as if he found it hard to go 
on, and the boys looked at one another with inquir- 
ing eyes, for their teacher seldom punished, and 
when he did it was a very solemn thing. Several 
of these anxious glances fell upon Joe, who was 
very red and sat whittling a pencil as if he dared 
not lift his eyes. 

"He's the chap. Wont he catch it?" whis- 
pered Gus to Frank, for both owed him a grudge. 

" The boy who broke the rule last Friday, at 
afternoon recess, will come to the desk," said Mr. 
Acton, in his most impressive manner. 

If a thunderbolt had fallen through the roof it 
would hardly have caused a greater surprise than 
the sight of Jack Minot walking slowly down the 
aisle, with a wrathful flash in the eyes he turned on 
Joe as he passed him. 

" Now, Minot, let us have this over as soon as 
possible, for I do not like it any better than you 
do, and I am sure there is some mistake. I 'm told 
you went to the shop on Friday. Is it true?" 
asked Mr. Acton, very gently, for he liked Jack, 
and seldom had to correct him in any way. 

" Yes, sir," and Jack looked up as if proud to 
show that he was not afraid to tell the truth as far 
as he could. 

" To buy something ? " 

"No, sir." 

" To meet some one ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

" Was it Jerry Shannon ? " 

No answer, but Jack's fists doubled up of them- 
selves as he shot another fiery glance at Joe, whose 
face burned as if it scorched him. 

" I am told it was ; also that you were seen to go 
into the saloon with him. Did you ? " and Mr. 
Acton looked so sure that it was a mistake that it 
cost Jack a great effort to say, slowly : 

" Yes, sir." 

Quite a thrill pervaded the school at this con- 
fession, for Jerry was one of the wild fellows the 
boys all shunned, and to have any dealings with 
him was considered a very disgraceful thing. 

" Did you play ? " 

" No, sir. I can't." 

"Drink beer?" 

" I belong to the Lodge," and Jack stood as 
erect as any little soldier who ever marched under 
a' temperance banner and fought for the cause 
none are too young nor too old to help along. 

" I was sure of that. Then what took you 
there, my boy ? " 

The question was so kindly put that Jack forgot 
himself an instant, and blurted out: 

" I only went to pay him some money, sir." 

" Ah, how much ? " 

" Two seventy-five," muttered Jack, as red as a 
cherry at not being able to keep a secret better. 

" Too much for a lad like you to owe such a 
fellow as Jerry. How came it ? " and Mr. Acton 
looked disturbed. 

Jack opened his lips to speak, but shut them 
again, and stood looking down with a little quiver 
about the mouth that showed how much it cost 
him to be silent. 

"Does any one beside Jerry know of this?" 

" One other fellow," after a pause. 

" Yes, I understand," and Mr. Acton's eye 
glanced at Joe with a look that seemed to say, " I 
wish he 'd held his tongue." 

A queer smile flitted over Jack's face, for Joe was 
not the " other fellow," and knew very little about 
it, excepting what he had seen when he was sent 
on an errand by Mr. Acton on Friday. 

" I wish you would explain the matter, John, for 
I am sure it is better than it seems, and it would 
be very hard to punish you when you don't deserve 

" But I do deserve it; I 've broken the rule, and 
I ought to be punished," said Jack, as if a good 
whipping would be easier to bear than this public 

"And you can't explain, or even say you are 




sorry, or ashamed?" asked Mr. Acton, hoping to 
surprise another fact out of the boy. 

" No, sir ; I can't ; I 'm not ashamed ; I 'm not 
sorry, and I 'd do it again to-morrow if I had to ; " 
cried Jack, losing patience, and looking as if he 
would not bear much more. 

A groan from the boys greeted this bare-faced 
declaration, and Susy quite shivered at the idea of 
having taken two bites out of the apple of such a 
hardened desperado. 

away, 1 had only that time, and I 'd promised to 
pay up, so I did." 

Mr. Acton believed every word he said, and 
regretted that they had not been able to have it out 
privately, but he, too, must keep his promise and 
punish the offender, whoever he was. 

" Very well, you will lose your recess for a week, 
and this month's report will be the first one in 
which behavior does not get the highest mark. You 
may go ; and I wish it understood that Master 


" Think it over till to-morrow, and perhaps you 
will change your mind. Remember that this is the 
last week of the month, and reports are given out 
next Friday," said Mr. Acton, knowing how much 
the boy prided himself on always having good ones 
to show his mother. 

Poor Jack turned scarlet and bit his lips to keep 
them still, for he had forgotten this when he 
plunged into the affair which was likely to cost him 
dear. Then the color faded away, the boyish face 
grew steady, and the honest eyes looked up at his 
teacher as he said very low, but all heard him, the 
room was so still : 

" It is n't as bad as it looks, sir, but I can't say 
any more. No one is to blame but me ; and I 
could n't help breaking the rule, for Jerry was going 

Minot is not to be troubled with questions till he 
chooses to set this matter right." 

Then the bell rang, the children trooped out, 
Mr. Acton went off without another word, and Jack 
was left alone to put up his books and hide a few 
tears that would come because Frank turned his 
eyes away from the imploring look cast upon him 
as the culprit came down from the platform, a 
disgraced boy. 

Elder brothers are apt to be a little hard on 
younger ones, so it is not surprising that Frank, 
who was an eminently proper boy, was much cut 
up when Jack publicly confessed to dealings with 
Jerry, leaving it to be supposed that the worst half 
of the story remained untold. He felt it his duty, 
therefore, to collar poor Jack when he came out, 




and talk to him all the way home, like a judge 
bent on getting at the truth by main force. A 
kind word would have been very comforting, but 
the scolding was too much for Jack's temper, so 
he turned dogged and would not say a word, 
though Frank threatened not to speak to him for 
a week. 

At tea-time both boys were very silent, one look- 
ing grim, the other excited. Frank stared sternly 
at his brother across the table, and no amount of 
marmalade sweetened or softened that reproachful 
look. Jack defiantly crunched his toast, with 
occasional slashes at the butter, as if he must vent 
the pent-up emotions which half distracted him. 
Of course, their mother saw that something was 
amiss, but did not allude to it, hoping that the 
cloud would blow over as so many did if left alone. 
But this one did not, and when both refused cake, 
this sure sign of unusual perturbation made her 
anxious to know the cause. As soon as tea was over, 
Jack retired with gloomy dignity to his own room, 
and Frank, casting away the paper he had been 
pretending to read, burst out with the whole story. 
Mrs. Minot was as much surprised as he, but not 
angry, because, like most mothers, she was sure 
that her sons could not do anything very bad. 

"I will speak to him; my boy wont refuse to 
give me some explanation," she said, when Frank 
had freed his mind with as much warmth as if 
Jack had broken all the ten commandments. 

" He will. You often call me obstinate, but he 
is as pig-headed as a mule; Joe only knows what 
he saw, old tell-tale ! and Jerry has left town, or I 'd 
have it out of him. Make Jack own up, whether 
he can or not. Little donkey ! " stormed Frank, 
who hated rowdies and could not forgive his brother 
for being seen with one. 

" My dear, all boys do foolish things sometimes, 
even the wisest and best behaved, so don't be hard 
on the poor child. He has got into trouble, I 've 
no doubt, but it cannot be very bad, and he earned 
the money to pay for his prank, whatever it was." 

Mrs. Minot left the room as she spoke, and 
Frank cooled down as if her words had been a 
shower-bath, for he remembered his own costly 
escapade, and how kindly both his mother and Jack 
had stood by him on that trying occasion. So, feel- 
ing rather remorseful, he went off to talk it over with 
Gus, leaving Jill in a fever of curiosity, for Merry 
and Molly had dropped in on their way home to 
break the blow to her, and Frank declined to 
discuss it with her, after mildly stating that Jack 
was a "ninny," in his opinion. 

" Well, I know one thing," said Jill, confiden- 
tially, to Snow-ball, when they were left alone 
together, " if every one else is scolding him I wont 
say a word. It 's so mean to crow over people 

when they are down, and I'm sure he has n't done 
anything to be ashamed of, though he wont tell." 

Snow-ball seemed to agree to this, for he went 
and sat down by Jack's slippers waiting for him on 
the hearth, and Jill thought that a very touching 
proof of affectionate fidelity to the little master who 
ruled them both. 

When he came, it was evident that he had found 
it harder to refuse his mother than all the rest. 
But she trusted him, in spite of appearances, and 
that was such a comfort ! for poor Jack's heart was 
very full, and he longed to tell the whole story, but he 
would not break his promise, and so kept silence 
bravely. Jill asked no questions, affecting to be 
anxious for the games they always played together 
in the evening; but while they played, though the 
lips were sealed, the bright eyes said as plainly as 
words, " I trust you," and Jack was very grateful. 

It was well he had something to cheer him up at 
home, for he got little peace at school. He bore 
the grave looks of Mr. Acton meekly, took the 
boys' jokes good-naturedly, and withstood the 
artful teasing of the girls with patient silence. But 
it was very hard for the social, affectionate fellow to 
bear the general distrust, for he had been such a 
favorite he felt the change keenly. 

But the thing that tried him most was the knowl- 
edge that his report would not be what it usually 
was. It was always a happy moment when he 
showed it to his mother, and saw her eye brighten 
as it fell on the 99 or 100, for she cared more for 
good behavior than for perfect lessons. Mr. Acton 
once said that Frank Minot's moral influence in 
the school was unusual, and Jack never forgot her 
pride and delight as she told them what Frank 
himself had not known till then. It was Jack's 
ambition to have the same said of him, for he was 
not much of a scholar, and he had tried hard since 
he went back to school to get good records in that 
respect at least. Now, here was a dreadful down- 
fall, tardy marks, bad company, broken rules, and 
something too wrong to tell, apparently. 

" Well, I deserve a good report, and that 's a 
comfort, though nobody believes it," he said to 
himself, trying to keep up his spirits, as the slow 
week went by, and no word from him had cleared 
up the mystery. 

Chapter XIV. 


Jill worried about it more than he did, for she 
was a faithful little friend, and it was a great trial 
to have Jack even suspected of doing anything 
wrong. School is a child's world- while he is there, 
and its small affairs are very important to him, so 




Jill felt that the one thing to be done was to clear 
away the cloud about her dear boy, and restore 
him to public favor. 

" Ed will be here Saturday night and may be 
he will find out, for Jack tells him everything. I 
do hate to have him hectored so, for I know he is, 
though he 's too proud to complain," she said, on 
Thursday evening, when Frank told her some joke 
played upon his brother that day. 

" I let him alone, but I see that he is n't badg- 
ered too much. That 's all I can do. If Ed had 
only come home last Saturday it might have done 
some good, but now it will be too late ; for the 
reports are given out to-morrow, you know," 
answered Frank, feeling a little jealous of Ed's 
influence over Jack, though his own would have 
been as great if he had been as gentle. 

" Has Jerry come back?" asked Jill, who kept 
all her questions for Frank, because she seldom 
alluded to the tender subject when with Jack. 

" No, he 's off for the summer. Got a place 
somewhere. Hope he '11 stay there, and let Bob 

" Where is Bob now ? I don't hear much about 
him lately," said Jill, who was constantly on the 
look-out for "the other fellow," since it was not 

" Oh, he went to Captain Skinner's the first of 
March, chores round, and goes to school up there. 
Captain is strict, and wont let Bob come to town, 
except Sundays; but he don't mind it much, for 
he likes horses, has nice grub, and the hill fellows 
are good chaps for him to be with. So he 's all 
right, if he only behaves." 

" How far is it to Captain Skinner's?" asked Jill, 
suddenly, having listened, with her sharp eyes on 
Frank, as he tinkered away at his model, since he 
was forbidden all other indulgence in his beloved 

" It 's four miles to Hill District,' but the Captain 
lives this side of the school-house. About three 
from here, I should say." 

" How long would it take a boy to walk up 
there?" went on the questioner, with a new idea 
in her head. 

" Depends on how much of a walkist he is." 

" Suppose he was lame and it was sloshy, and 
lie made a call and came back. How long would 
that take ? " asked Jill, impatiently. 

" Well, in that case, I should say two or three 
hours. But it 's impossible to tell exactly, unless 
you know how lame the fellow was, and how long 
a call he made," said Frank, who liked to be 

" Jack could n't do it in less, could he ? " 

" He used to run up that hilly road for a 
breather, and think nothing of it. It would be a 

long job for him now, poor little chap, for his leg 
often troubles him, though he hates to own it." 

Jill lay back and laughed, a happy little laugh, 
as if she was pleased about something, and Frank 
looked over his shoulder to ask questions in his 

" What are you laughing at?" 

"Can't tell." 

" Why do you want to know about Hill District ? 
Are you going there ?" 

"Wish I could! I 'd soon have it out of him." 


"Never mind. Please push up my table. I 
must write a letter, and I want you to post it for 
me to-night, and never say a word till I give you 

" Oh, now you are going to have secrets and be 
mysterious, and get into a mess, are you?" and 
Frank looked down at her with a suspicious air, 
though he was intensely curious to know what she 
was about. 

" Go away till I 'm done. You will have to see 
the outside, but you can't know the inside till the 
answer comes ; " and, propping herself up, Jill 
wrote the following note, with some hesitation at 
the beginning and end, for she did not know the 
gentleman she was addressing, except by sight, 
and it was rather awkward. 

" Robert Walker : 

"Dear Sir: — I want to ask if Jack Minot came to see you last 
Friday afternoon. He got into trouble being seen with Jerry Shannon. 
He paid him some money. Jack wont tell, and Mr. Acton talked to 
him about it before all the school. We feel bad, because we think 
Jack did not do wrong. I don't know as you have anything to do 
with it, but I thought I 'd ask. Please answer quick. — Respectfully 
yours, Jane Pecq. " 

To make sure that her despatch was not tam- 
pered with, Jill put a great splash of red sealing- 
wax on it, which gave it a very official look, and 
much impressed Bob when he received it. 

" There ! Go and post it, and don't let any one 
see or know about it," she said, handing it over to 
Frank, who left his work with unusual alacrity to 
do her errand. When his eye fell on the address, 
he laughed, and said in a teasing way : 

"Are you and Bob such good friends that you 
correspond ? What will Jack say ? " 

"Don't know, and don't care! Be good, now, 
and let 's have a little secret as well as other folks. 
I '11 tell you all about it when he answers," said Jill, 
in her most coaxing tone. 

" Suppose he does n't?" 

" Then I shall send you up to see him. I must 
know something, and I want to do it myself, if I 

" Look here ; what are you after? I do believe 
you think " Frank got no farther, for Jill 




gave a little scream, and stopped him by crying 
eagerly: "Don't say it out loud! I really do 
believe it may be, and I 'm going to find out." 

" What made you think of him?" and Frank 
looked thoughtfully at the letter, as if turning care- 
fully over in his mind the idea that Jill's quick wits 
had jumped at. 

" Come here, and I '11 tell you." 

Holding him by one button, she whispered some- 
thing in his ear that made him exclaim, with a 
look at the rug :' 

" No ! did he? I declare I should n't wonder! 
It would be just like the dear old blunder-head." 

" I never thought of it till you told me where 
Bob was, and then it all sort of burst upon me in 

while she eagerly read it he sat calmly poring over 
the latest number of his own private and par- 
ticular " Boys' paper." 

Bob was not a " complete letter-writer" by any 
means, and with great labor and much ink had 
produced the following brief but highly satisfactory 
epistle. Not knowing how to address his fair cor- 
respondent he let it alone, and went at once to the 
point in the frankest possible way : 

"Jack did come up Friday. Sorry he got into a mess. It was 
real kind of him, and I shall pay him back soon. Jack paid Jerry 
for me, and I made him promise not to tell. Jerry said he'd come 
here and make a row if I did n't cash up. I was afraid I 'd lose the 
place if he did, for the Capt. is awful strict. If Jack don't tell now, 
I will. I aint mean. Glad vou wrote. R. O. W." 


one minute ! " cried Jill, waving her arms about to 
■ express the intellectual explosion which had thrown 
light upon the mystery, like sky-rockets in a dark 

"You are as bright as a button. No time to 
lose ; I 'm off," and off he was, splashing through 
the mud to post the letter, on the back of which he 
added, to make the thing sure, " Hurry up. F. 

Both felt rather guilty next day, but enjoyed 
themselves very much nevertheless, and kept 
chuckling over the mine they were making under 
Jack's unconscious feet. They hardly expected an 
answer at noon, as the Hill people were not very 
eager for their mail, but at night Jill was sure of a 
letter, and to her great delight it came. Jack 
brought it himself, which added to the fun, and 

" Hurrah ! " cried Jill, waving the letter over her 
head in great triumph. "Call everybody and 
read it out," she added, as Frank snatched it, 
and ran for his mother, seeing at a glance that the 
news was good. Jill was so afraid she should tell 
before the others came that she burst out singing 
" Pretty Bobby Shafto " at the top of her voice, to 
Jack's great disgust, for he considered the song very 
personal, as he was rather fond of " combing down 
his yellow hair," and Jill often plagued him by sing- 
ing it when he came in with the golden quids very 
smooth and nice to hide the scar on his forehead. 

In about five minutes the door flew open and in 
came mamma, making straight for bewildered 
Jack, who thought the family had gone crazy 
when his parent caught him in her arms, saying 
tenderly : 




" My good, generous boy ! I knew he was 
right all the time ! " while Frank worked his hand 
up and down like a pump-handle, exclaiming 
heartily : 

" You 're a trump, sir, and 1 'm proud of you ! " 
Jill meantime calling out, in wild delight: 

" I told you so ! I told you so ! I did find out, 
ha, ha, I did ! " 

" Come, I say! What ; s the matter? I 'm all 
right. Don't squeeze the breath out of me, 
please," expostulated Jack,, looking so startled and 
innocent, as he struggled feebly, that they all 
laughed, and this plaintive protest caused him to 
be released. But the next proceeding did not 
enlighten him much, for Frank kept waving a very 
inky paper before him and ordering him to read 
it, while mamma made a charge at Jill, as if it was 
absolutely necessary to hug somebody. 

" Hullo ! " said Jack, when he got the letter 
into his own hand and read it. " Now who put 
Bob up to this? Nobody had any business to 
interfere — but it 's mighty good of him, anyway," 
he added, as the anxious lines in his round face 
smoothed themselves away, while a smile of relief 
told how hard it had been for him to keep his 

"I did!" cried Jill, clapping her hands, and 
looking so happy that he could not have scolded 
her if he had wanted to. 

" Who told you he was in the scrape ? " demanded 
Jack, in a hurry to know all about it now the seal 
was taken off his own lips. 

" You did," and Jill's face twinkled with naughty 
satisfaction, for this was the best fun of all. 

" I did n't ! When ? Where ? It 's a joke ! " 

" You did," cried Jill, pointing to the rug. 
" You went to sleep there after the long walk, and 
talked in your sleep about ' Bob ' and ' All right, 
old boy,' and ever so much gibberish. I did n't 
think about it then, but when I heard that Bob 
was up there I thought may be he knew some- 
thing about it, and last night I wrote and asked 
him, and that 's the answer, and now it is all right, 
and you are the best boy that ever was, and I 'm so 
glad ! " 

Here Jill paused, all out of breath, and Frank 
said, with an approving pat on the head : 

" It wont do to have such a sharp young person 
round if we are going to have secrets. You 'd make 
a good detective, miss." 

" Catch me taking naps before people again," 
and Jack looked rather crestfallen that his own 
words had set " Fine Ear " on the track. " Never 
mind, I didn't mean to tell, though I just ached to 
do it all the time, so I have n't broken my word. 
I 'm glad you all know, but you need n't let it get 
out, for Bob is a good fellow and it might make 

trouble for him," added Jack, anxious lest his gain 
should be the other's loss. 

" I shall tell Mr. Acton myself, and the Captain, 
also, for 1 'm not going to have my son suspected 
of wrong-doing when he has only tried to help a 
friend, and borne enough for his sake," said mam- 
ma, much excited by this discovery of generous 
fidelity in her boy ; though, when one came to look 
at it calmly, one saw that it might have been done 
in a wiser way. 

" Now, please, don't make a fuss about it ; that 
would be most as bad as having every one down 
on me. I can stand your praising me, but I wont 
be patted on the head by anybody else," and Jack 
assumed a manly air, though his face was full of 
genuine boyish pleasure at being set right in the 
eyes of those he loved. 

" I '11 be discreet, dear, but you owe it to your- 
self, as well as Bob, to have the truth known. 
Both have behaved well, and no harm will come 
to him, I am sure. I '11 see to that myself," said 
Mrs. Minot, in a tone that set Jack's mind at rest 
on that point. 

" Now, do tell all about it," cried Jill, who was 
pining to know the whole story, and felt as if she 
had earned the right to hear it. 

" Oh, it was n't much. We promised Ed to 
stand by Bob, so I did as well as I knew how," and 
Jack seemed to think that was about all there was 
to say. 

" I never saw such a fellow for keeping a prom- 
ise ! You stick to it through thick and thin, no 
matter how silly or hard it is. You remember, 
mother, last summer, how you told him not to go 
in a boat and he promised, the day we went on the 
picnic. We rode up, but the horse ran off home, 
so we had to come back by way of the river, all but 
Jack, and he walked every step of five miles because 
he would n't go near a boat, though Mr. Burton 
was there to take care of him. I call that rather 
overdoing the matter," and Frank looked as if he 
thought moderation even in virtue a good thing. 

" And I call it a fine sample of entire obedience. 
He obeyed orders, and that is what we all must do, 
without always seeing why, or daring to use our 
own judgment. It is a great safeguard to Jack, 
and a very great comfort to me ; for I know that if 
he promises he will keep his word, no matter what 
it costs him," said mamma, warmly, as she tum- 
bled up the quirls with an irrepressible caress, 
remembering how the boy came wearily in after 
all the others, without seeming for a moment to 
think that he could have done anything else. 

" Like Casabianca !" cried Jill, much impressed, 
for obedience was her hardest trial. 

" I think he was a fool to burn up," said Frank, 
bound not to give in. 




" I don't. It 's a splendid piece, and every one 
likes to speak it, and it was true, and it would n't 
be in all the books if he was a fool. Grown people 
know what is good," declared Jill, who liked heroic 
actions, and was always hoping for a chance to 
distinguish herself in that way. 

" You admire ' The Charge of the Light Brig- 
ade,' and glow all over as you thunder it out. Yet 
they went gallantly to their death rather than dis- 
obey orders. A mistake, perhaps, but it makes 
us thrill to hear of it ; and the same spirit keeps 
my Jack true as steel when once his word is 
passed, or he thinks it is his duty. Don't be 
laughed out of it, my son, for faithfulness in little 
things fits one for heroism when the great trials 
come. One's conscience can hardly be too tender 
when honor and honesty are concerned." 

" You are right, mother, and I 'm wrong. I beg 
your pardon, Jack, and you sha'n't get ahead of 
me next time." 

Frank made his mother a little bow, gave his 
brother a shake of the hand, and nodded to Jill, as 
if anxious to show that he was not too proud to 
own up when he made a mistake. 

" Please tell on, Jack. This is very nice, but I 
do want to know all about the other," said Jill, 
after a short pause. 

" Let me see. Oh, I saw Bob at church, and he 
looked rather blue ; so, after Sunday-school, I 
asked what the matter was. He said Jerry bothered 
him for some money he lent him at different times 
when they were loafing round together, before we 
took him up. He would n't get any wages for 
some time. The Captain keeps him short on pur- 
pose, I guess, and wont let him come down town 
except on Sundays. He did n't want any one to 
know about it, for fear he 'd lose his place. So I 
promised I would n't tell. Then I was afraid Jerry 
would go and make a fuss, and Bob would run off, 
or do something desperate, being worried, and I 
said I 'd pay it for him, if I could. So he went 
home pretty jolly, and I scratched 'round for the 
money. Got it, too, and was n't I glad?" 

Jack paused to rub his hands, and Frank said, 
with more than usual respect : 

"Could n't you get hold of Jerry in any other 
place, and out of school time ? That did the mis- 
chief, thanks to Joe. I thrashed him, Jill, — did I 
mention it? " 

" I could n't get all my money till Friday morn- 
ing, and I knew Jerry was off at night. I looked 
for him before school, and at noon, but couldn't 
find him, so afternoon recess was my last chance. 
I was bound to do it, and I did n't mean to break 
the rule, but Jerry was just going into the shop, so 
I pelted after him, and as it was private business 

we went to the billiard-room. I declare I never 
was so relieved as when I handed over that money, 
and made him say it was all right, and he would n't 
go near Bob. He 's off, so my mind is easy, and 
Bob will be so grateful I can keep him steady, per- 
haps. That will be worth two seventy-five, I 
think," said Jack, heartily. 

" You should have come to me," began Frank. 

"And got laughed at, — no, thank you," inter- 
rupted Jack, recollecting several philanthropic 
little enterprises which were nipped in the bud for 
want of co-operation. 

"Tome, then," said his mother. "It would 
have saved so much trouble." 

"I thought of it, but Bob did n't want the big 
fellows to know for fear they 'd be down on him, so 
I thought he might not like me to tell grown 
people. I don't mind the fuss now, and Bob is as 
kind as he can be. Wanted to give me his big 
knife, but I would n't take it. I'd rather have 
this," and Jack put the letter in his pocket with a 
slap outside, as if it warmed the cockles of his heart 
to have it there. 

"Well, it seems rather like a tempest in a tea- 
pot, now it is all over, but I do admire your pluck, 
little boy, in holding out so well when every one 
was scolding at you, and you in the right all the 
time," said Frank, glad to praise, now that he 
honestly could, after his wholesale condemnation. 

" That is what pulled me through, I suppose. I 
used to think if I had done anything wrong, that I 
could n't stand the snubbing a day. I should have 
told right off, and had it over. Now, I guess, I 'II 
have a good report if you do tell Mr. Acton," said 
Jack, looking at his mother so wistfully, that she 
resolved to slip away that very evening and make 
sure that the thing was done. 

" That will make you happier than anything else, 
wont it?" asked Jill, eager to have him rewarded 
after his trials. 

" There 's one thing I like better, though I 'd be 
very sorry to lose my report. It's the fun of telling 
Ed I tried to do as he wanted us to, and seeing 
how pleased he '11 be," added Jack, rather bashfully, 
for the boys laughed at him sometimes for his love 
of this friend. 

" I know he wont be any happier about it than 
some one else, who stood by you all through, and 
set her bright wits to work till the trouble was all 
cleared away," said Mrs. Minot, looking at Jill's 
contented face, as she lay smiling on them all. 

Jack understood, and, hopping across the room, 
gave both the thin hands a hearty shake ; then, not 
finding any words quite cordial enough in which to 
thank this faithful little sister, he stooped down and 
kissed her gratefully. 

( To be continued. ) 





By Harry S. Barnes. 

How many happy afternoons we have spent in 
this old room — " Grandma's room," as it is still 
called, though it is many a day since the dear old 
lady left it forever ! Nothing here has been changed 
since that day, and I can fancy I see her, as I saw 
her last, sitting in her old chintz-covered arm-chair, 
with her head resting on her hand, reading quietly 
from her Bible; only raising her eyes now and 
then to gaze thoughtfully into the fire. At her feet 

played Doodles, the cat, and her little kitten. A 
bright fire snapped and crackled upon the hearth, 
for Grandmother only gave up her fire at the last 
moment, saying that it was such a cheerful com- 
panion. She would sit alone for hours, watching 
the fantastic, ever-changing picture among the 
flames, as the wood turned slowly into embers, the 
embers into dust. 

We two children had spent the afternoon " up 




garret," a little Paradise as it then seemed to us, 
playing all sorts of happy pranks, rummaging to 
our hearts' content among the accumulated rub- 
bish of nearly a hundred years — a rubbish to us 
full of delightful surprises. The twilight came 
upon us suddenly, and all too soon. Though it had 
been gradually stealing over us, we had not noticed 
it till, looking up, the attic was all dark. We' ran 
down stairs and sought the Grandmother. As we 
came romping in, she looked up with a smile and 
said, " Well, chicks, what is it now? " For always 
after we had been up-stairs, we had some new-found 
treasure to inquire about. Now it would be a 
curious old piece of brass, now a pair of antlers, 
now the old flax-wheel, — and about each, Grand- 
mother had some little story of the time when she 
was young. It seemed so funny to us to think of 
Grandmother as young, and visiting her grand- 
mother, as we visited her. This time it was a big 
leather saddle with a projection behind, the like of 
which we had never seen, and whose use we could 
by no means make out. We climbed up upon the 
arms of her chair, one on either side, and told her 
about it. 

" When I was young," said Grandmother, "very 
few people could afford to keep carriages, and if 
they could have done so I doubt whether they would 
have been of much use to them, for the roads were 
few and poor. The country was wilder. than it is 
now. Horseback riding was the usual mode of 
traveling, for both ladies and gentlemen. Of 
course there were no railroads. We thought noth- 
ing of riding off ten miles to church in winter. 
But I am forgetting your question, my dears. 

"This saddle was your grandfather's (that was 
before we were married), and many a long ride 
we 've had on it together. Did you never hear of 
two people riding together on one horse ? This was 
the way we managed: Your grandfather would 
sit on the saddle as any gentleman does now, and 
I would perch myself up behind on this projection 
("pillion" it's called), with my arms about him, 
to hold on, you know, and off we 'd go. It was very 
cold sometimes, for it was not considered necessary 
in those days for girls to wrap up as they do now. 
Why, in the coldest weather I used to ride dressed 
in a white dimity gown and low slippers, with noth- 
ing but a thin shawl thrown over my shoulders. It 
makes me shiver to think of it now, but then I did 
not mind it, for I was only too happy to ride with 
your Grandfather. (There hangs his likeness, my 
dears, cut out of black paper; it's hung there 
nigh on to forty years.) Well, we used to wish 
the ride to church, which we took once a week, 
was longer than it was, and even the long, long 

sermon appeared short. We had no stove in our 
church, and those who lived near were accustomed 
to bring live coals in small, square tin boxes (such 
as you '11 find in the garret) to put' under their feet. 
But the good old parson preached such long ser- 
mons that the boxes were often cold long before it 
was time to go home. 

"I told you there were not many carriages in the 
country, but in our church there was one old gen- 
tleman who had a light wagon, with two seats — 
one fastened, and another at the back, movable. I 
must tell you what happened to him one Sunday. 
Church was over and he and his wife were starting 
off quite grandly in their wagon, he on the front 
seat, she on the back, when the horse gave a sud- 
den bound, and what do you think ! — if that back 
seat did n't turn right over and spill the old lady 
into the road ! The funny part was that he, being 
deaf, did not hear her fall, and drove all the way 
home without her. The first he knew of it was 
when he got down to help her out. Of course, he 
had to drive back and get her, and well he was 
laughed at through the whole country round. That 

was a long time ago." And Grandmother was 

silent, looking at the fire. 

But we had not heard nearly enough, and 
begged for just one little story more. Grandma 
yielded, finally, — as what Grandmother will not? — 
and asked : 

" Did you ever know what made that hole in 
the sounding-board just above the pulpit? It was 
one Sunday, during the revolution, and all the peo- 
ple were sitting in church, when, unexpectedly, 
the British marched into town. One of the soldiers 
opened the church door and fired at the minister 
as he stood in the pulpit, but luckily missed him, 
and the ball lodged in the sounding-board just 
above his head. You may see it there yet. How 
frightened the people were ! But there was no more 
trouble just then, and before night the blue coats 
had collected and driven the British away. Now, 
Grandmother 's tired and can't tell you any more. 
I guess if you can find Marnie she knows where 
there are some cookies." -> 

Marnie was the old servant who, for fifty years, 
had lived with the Grandmother until every one 
looked upon her as one of the family. Her cookies 
were known far and wide, and to us were especially 
delicious. So we kissed the Grandmother and 
went in search of her. As we went out of the 
door, I looked back and saw the dear old lady sit- 
ting with her book open before her ; not reading, 
though one finger marked the place, but looking 
far away — into the past, as it seemed. 

Happy the home that has a Grandmother in it J 

■ 88o.J 



By W. T. Peters. 

Oh, once I was a melancholy, lonesome little boy, 
And I lived alone beside the restless sea ; 

And every mighty vessel that I saw upon the main, 
I was positive that ship belonged to me. 

But now I 'm a contented little, merry little man, 

For I do not dwell alone beside the sea; 
And tho' I know those mighty vessels never can be mine, 

I 'm as happy as a little man can be. 

Vol. VII.— 41. 




By Daniel C. Beard. 

To ME, no longer a young boy, 
the next best thing to really 
living in the woods is talking over such an ex- 
perience. A thousand little incidents, scarcely 
thought of at the time, crowd upon my mind, and 
bring back with them the feeling of freedom and 
adventure, so dear to the heart of every boy. Shall 
I ever enjoy any flavor earth can afford as we did 
our coffee's aroma? The flapjacks, how good and 
appetizing ! the fish, how delicate and sweet ! And 
the wonderful cottage of boughs, thatched with the 
tassels of the pine, — was there ever a cottage out 
of a fairy tale that could compare with it ! 

I have tried to make a picture from memory, 
and the result lies before you. It is late in the 
afternoon; there stands the little cot, flooded with 
the light of the setting sun ; those who built it and 
use it for a habitation are off exploring, hunting, 
fishing and foraging for their evening meal, and 
the small, shy creatures of the wood take the 
opportunity to satisfy the curiosity with which they 

have, from a safe distance, viewed the erection of 
so large and singular a nest. 

The boys will soon return, each with his con- 
tribution to the larder, — a fish, a squirrel, a bird, 
or a rabbit, which will be cooked and eaten with 
better appetite and enjoyment than the most elab- 
orate viands that home could afford. And, although 
such joys are denied to me now, I can, at least, in 
remembering them, give others an opportunity to 
possess similar pleasures. It shall be my object to 
describe how these houses may be built and these 
dinners cooked, and that, too, where there are 
neither planks, nor nails, nor stoves. To boys 
well informed in woodcraft, I should need to give 
only a few hints ; but, for the benefit of amateurs, 
we will go more into detail. 

Four persons make a good camping-party. 
Before arriving at their destination, these persons 
should choose one of their number as captain. 

The captain gives directions and superintends 
the pitching of the tent or the building of the rustic 




front, and cover these poles with cross-sticks. 
When the frame-work is finished, the security and 
durability of the structure will be improved by 



cottage. The site for the camp should be upon a 
knoll, mound, or rising ground, so as to afford a 
good drainage. If the forest abounds in pine-trees, 



fastening all the loose joints, tying them together 
with withes of willow, grass, or reeds. The next 
- step is to cover the frame. This is done after the 
method shown in Figure 2. From among some 
boughs, saved for this purpose, take one, and hang 
it upon the third cross-bar, counting from the 
ground up ; bring the bough down, passing it 
inside the second bar, and resting the end on the 
ground outside the first bar ; repeat this with other 
boughs until the row is finished. Then begin at 
the fourth bar, passing the boughs down inside the 


task is an easy 
one. It often 
happens that f%5^ 
two or three 
trees already 
standing can 
be made to 
serve for the 
corners of the 
proposed edi- 

" > "^S^4^v>,.' .V.V.. •' 

rice, though trees are not absolutely necessary. 

Figure 1 represents part of the frame-work of 
one of the simplest forms of rustic cottage. In this 



third and outside the second bar, so that they 
will overlap the first row. Continue in this man- 
ner until the four walls are closed in, leaving spaces 
open where windows or doors are wanted. The 
roof is thatched after the same method, beginning 
at the front and working upward and backward to 
the rear wall, each row overlapping the preceding 
row of thatch. The more closely and compactly 
, you thatch the roof and walls, the better protection 
will they afford from any passing shower. This 
completed, your house is finished, and you will be 
astonished to see what a lovely little green cot you 
have built. 

The illustration entitled "No one at home" 
differs from the one we have just described only in 

case, two trees serve for the corners of the rear 
wall. The upright posts are young trees that 
have been cut down and firmly planted at about 
four or five paces in front of the trees. As shown 
in the diagram, enough of the branches have 
been left adhering to the trunks of the upright 
posts, to serve as rests for the cross-bars. To pre- 
vent complication in the diagram, the roof is not 
shown. To make this : fasten on an additional 
cross-bar or two to the rear wall, then put a pole having the roof extended so as to form a sort of 
at each side, slanting down from the rear to the verandah, or porch, in front ; the floor of the porch 







forked sticks, sharpen the ends, and drive them 
being covered with a layer of pine-needles, firmly into the ground at the spot where you wish 
Should you find your house too small to accommo- :sf^-~~ — ~ 

date your party, you can, by erecting a duplicate ^==3^ 

cottage four or five paces 
at one side, and roofing /', -a-^C^^^^ 



over the intervening space, have a house of two 
rooms with an open hall-way between. 

Before going to housekeeping, some furniture 
will be necessary ; and for this we propose to do 

.r ■«">, .mi,. 

the bed to stand in your room. Two strong poles, 
long enough to reach lengthwise from fork to fork, 
will serve for side-boards, a number of short sticks 


our shopping right in the neighborhood of our 
cottage. Here is our cabinet and upholstery shop, 
in the wholesome fragrance of the pines. 

After the labor of building, your thoughts will 
naturally turn to a place for sleeping. Cut four 


will answer for slats; after these are fastened in 
place, you have the rustic bedstead shown in 

1 88a] 




FIG. 13. — SPOONS. 


weight be intends them to bear, otherwise his 
slumbers may be interrupted in an abrupt and disa- 
My first 
in this line 
proved disas- 
trous. I spent 
the greater part 
of one day in build- 
ing and neatly fin 
ishinga bed like 
one described. After 
it was made up, with 
an army blanket for a 

coverlid, it looked so soft, comfortable and inviting, 
that I scarcely could wait for bed-time to try it. 

When the evening meal was over, and the last 
story told around the blazing camp-fire, I took off 
hat, coat, and boots, and 
snuggled down in my new 
and original couch, curi- 
ously watched by my com- 
panions, who lay, rolled in 
their blankets, upon the 
hard ground. It does not take a boy long to fall 
asleep, particularly after a hard day's work in the 
open air, but it takes longer, after being aroused 
from a sound nap, for 
him to get his wits 

together, especially 

when suddenly dumped 
upon the ground with a 
crash, amid a heap of 
broken sticks and dry 
brush, as I happened 
to be on that eventful 
night. Loud and long 
were the shouts of 
laughter of my com- 
panions when they dis- 
covered my misfortune. 
Theoretically, the bed 
was well planned, but 
practically it was a 
failure, because it had 
rotten sticks for bed- 

Having provided bed 
and shelter, it is high 
time to look after the 
inner boy ; and while 
the foragers are off in 
search of provisions, it 

this rustic cabinet-making, to select carefully for will be the cook's duty to provide some method 
the bed-posts sticks strong enough to support the of cooking the food that will be brought in. 

Figure 3. A good spring-mattress is very desirable, 
and not difficult to obtain. Gather a lot of small 
\ green branches, or brush, and 
cover your bedstead with 
^g^^^ a layer of it about one 

foot thick ; this you will 
find a capital substi- 
tute for springs. 
For your mat- 
tress proper, go 
to your uphol- 
stery shop under the 
pine-tree, and gather 
several armfuls of the dry 
pine-needles ; cover the elastic 
brush "springs" with a thick layer 
of these needles; over this spread 
your india-rubber blanket, as shown in Figure 5, 
with the rubber side under, so that any moisture 
or dampness there may be in your mattress may 
be prevented from coming 
through. You may now 
make up your bed with 
whatever wraps or blan- 
kets you have with you, 
and you have (Figure 6) as 
complete and comfortable a bed as any forester 
need wish for. 

I would suggest to any boy who means to try 





One of the simplest and most practical forms of. 
bake-oven can be made of clay and an old barrel. 
Remove one head of the barrel, scoop out a space 

in the nearest bank, 
and fit the barrel in 
(Figure 7). If the mud 
or clay is not damp 
enough, moisten it. 
and plaster it over the 
barrel to the depth 
of a foot or more, 
leaving a place for a 
fig. 17.— frame of chair. chimney at the back 

end, where part of a stave has been cut away ; 
around this place build a chimney ; Figure 8. After 
this, make a good, rousing fire in the barrel, and 
keep adding fuel until all the staves are burned out 
and the surrounding clay is baked hard. This 
makes an oven that will bake as well as, if not better 
than, any new patented stove or range at home. 
To use it, build a fire inside and let it burn until 
the oven is thoroughly heated, then rake out all 
the coal and embers, put your dinner in and close 



up the front with the head of the barrel, preserved 
for this purpose. 

If there be no bank convenient, or if you have 
no barrel with which to build this style of oven, 
there are other methods that will answer for all the 
cooking necessary to a party of boys camping out. 
Many rare fish have I eaten in my time. The 
delicious pompano at New Orleans, the brook-trout 

and grayling, fresh from the cold water of northern 

Michigan, but never have I had fish taste better 

than did a certain large cat-fish that we boys once 

caught on a set-line in 

Kentucky. We built a 

fire-place of flat stones, 

— a pictureof which you 

have in Figure 10, — 

covered it with a thin 

piece of slate, cleaned 

the fish, and placed it 

upon the slate with its 

skin still on. (Figure 

1 1.) When it was done upon one side we turned 

it over, until it was thoroughly cooked. With 

green sticks we lifted off the fish and placed it 

upon a piece of birch-bark; the skin adhered to 

the stone, and the meat came off in smoking, 

snowy pieces, which we ate with the aid of our 

pocket-knives and rustic forks made of small green 

twigs with the forked ends sharpened. 

If stones cannot be had to answer for this stove, 
there still remains the old, primitive camp-fire and 
pot-hook, shown in Fig- 
ure 12. The very sight 
of this iron pot swing- 
ing over a blazing fire, 
suggests soup, to eat 
which, with any comfort, 
spoons are necessary. 
These are quickly and 
easily made by thrusting 
clam or mussel shells 
into splits made in the 
ends of sticks ; Figure 
13 A shows a shell and 
stick; Figure 13 B rep- 
resents a spoon made 
firm by binding the shell 
in its place. A splendid 
butter-knife can be made 
from the shell of a razor- 
oyster in a similar man- 
ner, with a little care ; 
see Figures 14 and 15. 

If you stay any time in 
your forest home, you 
can, by a little ingenuity, 
add many comforts and 
conveniences. I have drawn some diagrams, as 
hints in this direction. For instance, Figure 17 
shows the manner of making an excellent rustic 
chair. A and B are two stout poles; E and F are 
two cross-poles, to which are fastened the ends of a 
piece of canvas, carpet or leather (Figure 18), 
which, swinging loose, fits itself exactly to your 
form, making a most comfortable easy-chair in 




which to rest or take a nap after a hard day's tramp. 
It often happens that the peculiar formation of 
some stump or branch suggests new styles of 
seats. A table can be very readily made by driv- 
ing four forked sticks into the ground for legs, 
and covering the cross-sticks upon the top with 
pieces of birch or other smooth bark; Figure 16 
shows a table made in this manner, with one piece 
of bark removed to reveal its construction. In the 
illustration entitled " A Dinner in the Woods," the 
young campers are sitting at one of these tables, 

As a general rule, what is taught in boys' books, 
though correct in theory, when tried, proves im- 
practicable. This brings to mind an incident that 
happened to a party of young hunters camping out 
in Ohio. Early one morning, one of the boys pro- 
cured from a distant farm-house a dozen pretty 
little white bantam eggs. Having no game,' and 
only one small fish in the way of fresh meat, the 
party congratulated themselves upon the elegant 
breakfast they would make of fresh eggs, toasted 

crackers, and coffee. How to cook the eggs was 
the question. One of the party proposed his 

" I have just read a book," said he, " which tells 
how some travelers cooked fowls and fish by rolling 
them up in clay, and tossing them into the fire. 
Shall we try that plan with the eggs?" 

The rest of the party assented, and soon all were 
busy rolling rather large balls of blue clay, in the 
center of each of which was an egg. A dozen were 
placed in the midst of the hottest embers, and the 
boys seated themselves around the fire, impatiently 
waiting for the eggs to cook. They did cook, — with 
a vengeance ! Zip, bang ! went one, then another 
and another, until, in less time than it takes to tell 
it, not an egg remained unexploded ; and the hot 
embers and bits of clay that stuck to the boys' hair 
and clothes were all that was left to remind them 
of those nice, fresh, bantam eggs. It was all very 
funny, but ever after, the boys of that party showed 
the greatest caution in trying new schemes, no mat- 
ter how well they might seem to be indorsed. 





By Mrs. M. L. Evans. 


was one of the women 

who always keep in 

the house a remedy for 

every human ailment ; 

the rafters in the garret 

were adorned with every 

variety of medicinal root 

and herb to be found in 

the neighborhood, with many 

more procured from abroad, 

all tied up in bunches and 

duly labeled ; besides these, 

the opening of the door to 

the china-closet revealed, on 

the upper shelves, rows and rows of boxes and 

bottles, all containing "doctors' stuff," the 

1 greater part of it belonging to the class of 

remedies known as patent medicines. 
The herbs in the garret and the medicines in 
the closet were not there merely to be looked at; 
it was intended that they should be used, either 
internally or externally, by inmates of the Ainsley 
residence ; and used they were by every one who 
was so unfortunate as to be smitten with a pain or 
an ache, or to receive a scratch, a burn, or a 
bruise, however slight. 

Of the wisdom of Mrs. Ainsley's system, and its 
effect upon members of her family other than 
Bessie, I will leave you to judge. Bessie, at the 
time of this story, was eight years old, and a 
remarkably healthy child, — no thanks to the herbs 
and patent medicines ; for it really was a matter of 
regret to her mother that Bessie should stand in so 
little need of these ; not that she wanted her little 
girl to be sick, but it was "such a comfort to 
doctor folks up." 

The effect of hearing so much about medicines, 
with perfect immunity from taking them, was to 
inspire Bessie with a profound respect for cure-alls 
and for her mother's knowledge concerning them ; 
and what she thus learned at home she did her best 
to teach her playmates at school. She could tell 
them the name of any weed they could find, and 
what it was "good for" ; the geography lessons that 
most delighted her were those in which were men- 
tioned the drug products of the countries described; 
and she was also deeply interested in all of the 
little aches and bodily ills of childhood. The play- 
mate with the nose-bleed, the boy with a stone- 
bruise on his toe, the girl with a headache, and the 

one with the ache that comes of eating too much 
green fruit, — all found in her a sympathizing 
friend ; and, though occasionally a sauce-box would 
call her " Mother Pillbags," as a general thing her 
ministrations and advice were most gratefully 
received : for if there is one thing that all children 
crave it is sympathy. But there came at last a 
case in which Bessie's sympathies carried her a 
little too far. 

One day, early in the winter, Mrs. Ainsley came 
home with a new kind of cough-mixture, — she 
always bought every new medicine as soon as it 
came into the market, — this was called " The 
Great All-Healing Recuperative Lung and Bron- 
chial Discovery," and it was accompanied by an 
almanac most fearfully and wonderfully gotten up 
in the way of illustrations, and containing innumer- 
able testimonials to the virtues of the " Discovery," 
though it had been but just discovered. 

Mrs. Ainsley was very enthusiastic over her pur- 
chase, and quite anxious for some member of the 
family to "catch cold," that she might test its 
powers. Bessie was, as usual, much interested, 
and studied the almanac with great care, particu- 
larly the illustrations. 

The next day she came to her mother with a sad 
tale of the little Doddses, Addie and Jimmie, who 
had come to school, she declared, with the worst 
cough she everheard. "And I told them, mamma," 
added she, "about your new medicine, and that 
they had better tell their mother to get some and 
cure them up, but they said that she always says 
she hasn't any money to throw away on doctors' 
stuff, and 'most always lets them get well without 

" Well, now, that's what I call downright crimi- 
nal carelessness. ' No money to throw away on 
doctors' stuff,' indeed ! She may have to pay fifty 
times the cost of that bottle of medicine, in doctor's 
bills, for neglecting that cough. But there is no use 
in talking to such people, Bessie, you waste your 
breath," and Mrs. Ainsley shut her lips very tightly 
indeed, as if she, for one, had no breath to waste. 

That afternoon was a half-holiday, and after 
dinner Mrs. Ainsley went out, leaving Bessie to her 
own devices. The little girl fell to thinking about 
the little Doddses, with that dreadful cough, and no 
kind mother like hers to buy medicine for them. 
She did not know that the children she so pitied 
were in the first stage of whooping-cough, a disease 
more annoying than dangerous, and upon which not 




all the medicines in her mother's stores would have 
had effect, or she would not have been prompted 
to do the absurd thing she did ; for she soon decided 
to take the new medicine to Mrs. Dodds and see if 
she could not prevail 
upon her to test its mer- 
its upon the children, 
and to buy a bottle for 
further use. So she took 
the bottle from the closet, 
took off the wrapper, 
loosened the cork, and 
was about starting with 
it, when she happened to 
think that she did not 
know how much of the 
medicine to administer at 
one time. Yes, now she 
came to think about it, 
she was sure her mother 
said a table-spoonful was 
adose. Now, theDoddses 
were poor, and Bessie 
thought very likely they 
had no spoons in the 
house but brass or iron 
ones, and she had often 
heard her mother say 
that nothing was fit to 
take medicine from but a 
silver spoon ; so she took 
from the tray a silver 
table-spoon, and with the 
Great All-healing, etc., 
and the almanac with 
which to fortify her argu- 
ments in its behalf, she 
started out to play the 
good Samaritan. 

Arriving at the Dodds 
residence, she found that 
Mrs. Dodds had gone 
from home, and left 
Addie, a girl of the same 
age as herself, and Jim- 
mie, aged six, to take 
care of the house and a 
baby ten months old. 
Bessie was soon saluted 
by the cough that had 
so troubled her, and she lost no time in making 
known her errand. Although, as the children 
had said, their mother was not in the habit of giving 
them much medicine, still they had had sufficient 
acquaintance with it to. acquire a hearty dislike to 
everything that bears the name ; they flatly refused 
to take a spoonful of Bessie's cough-mixture, and 


eyed the bottle with great disfavor. Bessie's 
strongest argument, namely, that the cough might 
grow worse and worse and the children finally die 
of it, was met by Addie with the unanswerable 
statement that they had 
had bad coughs before, 
and had n't died of them 

Bessie was nearly in 
despair, when she hap- 
pened to think of the 
almanac; opening it, she 
said : 

" See here, Jimmie, 
look at this boy. It says, 
under the picture, ' be- 
fore taking,' and the 
reading about him says 
that he has had a bad 
cough all winter. See 
how poor and thin he 
looks. He 's got only a 
little bit of hair, and that 
all hangs down around 
his face as if it was going 
to fall off, and his clothes 
are all poor and old, and 
they hang on him just 
like bags." 

" But I don't look like 
that," said Jimmie. 

" No ; but you may 
before spring, if your 
cough is n't cured," an- 
swered Bessie. 

" Don't believe it," re- 
turned Jimmie, stoutly. 
" Well, now, look at 
this picture on the next 
page," said Bessie; "it 
is the same little boy after 
he took the medicine. 
See how nice and fat he 
looks. How beautifully 
his hair curls ! And what 
a nice jacket he has on, 
all covered with but- 
tons ! " 

Here Bessie had, un- 
consciously, touched Jim- 
mie's weak point; of the many things in the world 
that he wanted very much, a jacket covered with 
buttons stood the foremost ; but he could not, for 
his life, exactly see how taking the medicine would 
bring it. 

While he was pondering this question, Bessie 
had turned the leaf to another "before taking." 





" O, do just look at this woman !" said she to 
Addie. " She 's just what my mother would call 
a bag of bones, and she stoops as if she was going 
to fall over on her face. See that great wart, or 
mole, or something on her chin, and how sorry she 
looks about being so sick ! Now look at this ' after 
taking.' How straight and fat and jolly she is. 
And I declare, if the wart is n't all gone ! Why, 
Addie," lifting up a face all radiant with a bright, 
new idea, " I should n't wonder if the medicine 
would take that great mole off of your nose, that 
the children plague you so much about.'' 

Addie was now as much interested as Bessie. 

" Well," said she, " I would n't mind taking 
'most anything if I could get rid of that, the girls 
do laugh so much about it. I say, Jim, I '11 take 
a spoonful of the dose if you will." 

Jimmie had already decided within himself to 
make the effort to get those buttons ; so both swal- 
lowed the medicine that Bessie now poured out for 
them, with no protest other than that expressed by 
very wry faces. 

"But the baby has the cough, too; she ought 
to have some of the medicine, oughtn't she?" said 

"Why, of course," said Bessie, and immediately 
poured out another spoonful, which, as it was not 
necessary to consult the helpless little innocent that 
lay kicking and crowing in the cradle, she pro- 
ceeded to administer without delay. But the baby 
proved not so helpless, after all; she made quick 
work of taking the medicine ; one sudden slap at 
the spoon sent the dark liquid in every direction 
but the one that Bessie intended it should take. 

" Mother always holds her nose when she gives 
her medicines," said Addie. " You see, she has to 
open her mouth to breathe, then mother just 
chucks the stuff in, and she has to swallow it or 
choke, you know." 

Bessie thought that a queer way in which to 
treat a baby, and concluded that, if the older chil- 
dren were thus taught to take medicines, it was 
little wonder that they did not like it ; but she 
measured out another spoonful, saying nothing. 
Then Addie firmly grasped the baby's nose, Jim- 
mie held its hands, and, when it opened its mouth, 
in went the medicine ; but just then the poor, 
struggling little creature planted such a vigorous 
kick on Jimmie's chest that he dropped the hands 
with a howl ; the liberated members flew up and sent 
the spoon spinning across the room, but not until 
the child had swallowed nearly three times what 
was intended for a dose of the medicine, because, 
you see, Bessie had made a mistake, — her mother 
had said a tea-spoonful, not a table-spoonful. 

Now, the medicine contained opium, — a drug 
which every one knows produces sleep, — and if one 

takes more than a certain quantity of it, he goes so 
soundly asleep that nothing can ever again awaken 

Happily for the Doddses, and no less for Bessie, 
there was not enough opium in the spoonful that 
each had taken to produce such a sad result, though 
in less than an hour the stupefying effect of what 
they had taken became apparent. Bessie did not 
return home immediately ; she sat talking with 
Addie about their school, their playmates, and the 
approaching holidays. Addie talked with anima- 
tion for a while, but seemed, gradually, to lose 
interest ; she yawned and rubbed her eyes occa- 
sionally, then her replies to Bessie's remarks, from 
being few and brief, became confused and indistinct. 
Jimmie, too, who had been buzzing around the 
room at a great rate, grew strangely quiet. Bessie 
turned to see what had become of him, and found 
him curled up in a large arm-chair, eyes closed 
and head nodding. She watched him a minute, 
laughing to herself, for he did look comical with 
his poor little head bobbing about so helplessly. 
Pretty soon she said : 

" What is the matter with Jimmie ? Does he 
take a nap every afternoon ? Seems to me, he is 
too old for that." 

Addie made no reply, and Bessie turned toward 
her. Behold, she was nodding, too ! 

Bessie -sat bolt upright in • amazement. Here 
were two children who, without apparent reason, 
were falling asleep in broad daylight; and, looking 
into the crib, she found that the baby, too, was fast 
asleep. What could it all mean? Just then her 
eye fell upon the bottle and spoon on the table, 
and they at once suggested the answer; for Bessie 
knew that there are medicines which put people 
asleep, and she instantly decided that this must be 
one of the kind. " And may be," said she to her- 
self, "that is why it is so much better than any 
other cough medicine; the people who take it just 
go to sleep, and forget how bad they feel, and 
when they wake up again perhaps they find that 
they are all cured." But, as she thought more 
about it, certain vague doubts darkened somewhat 
this hopeful view; the only thing that remained 
perfectly clear to her mind was that she ought not 
to go home and leave these three children asleep 
and alone ; she must stay with them until they 
awoke, or until their mother returned. So she 
settled herself in her chair, with a long sigh, and 
again fell to thinking uneasily about what she had 
done. She had taken the medicine from home 
without her mother's permission, and had given it 
to these children without their mother's permission. 
Now, what would both mothers say when they 
knew the truth ? Besides, Mrs. Dodds might return 
home at any moment, and Bessie knew that she 




had the reputation of being a high-tempered 
woman. What might she not do if she found her 
children in this condition? At this stage of her 
reflections, Bessie really began to tremble for her 
own safety. Still she waited bravely, hoping that 
the children would soon awaken ; but a half-hour 
passed and they gave no sign of returning con- 
sciousness; then Bessie could stand it no longer; 

ping Addic, the poor little doctor ran to Jimmie, 
and repeated the performance, — with a like result. 
Bessie was now ready to cry in despair. "What 
have I done ! What can I do ! " gasped she, 
looking from one to the other of the sleepers. 
Then, like an inspiration, came the recollection of 
how mischief-loving Aunt Sue had awakened 
brother Tom one morning, when every one else in 


she had become so alarmed that she determined to 
make an effort to arouse the children, and then 
escape from the wrath to come, by running home. 
So she went over to Addie and shook her 
soundly. The little girl so roughly handled half- 
opened her eyes, murmured some indistinct words, 
and dropped heavily back. Bessie shook her again 
and again, but Addie would only give a helpless 
blink and fall soundly asleep again. Then, drop- 

the house had failed to get him up for breakfast, 
by dashing a little cold water into his face. She 
ran to the bucket and brought a whole dipperful 
of water ; she intended to use but a little of it, but 
in her nervous eagerness the dipper slipped from 
her fingers, and a quart of ice-cold water was 
dashed into Jimmie's face. In the twinkling of an 
eye he was awake, as wide awake as he could be 
and be nearly drowned. But Bessie was too 




anxious to awaken the other children to stop to 
help him ; she left him choking and spluttering 
while she got some water for Addie, whom she 
treated to a much smaller quantity, finding that 
it answered the purpose quite as well. It was now 
the baby's turn, but Jimmie had found his voice, 
and was howling so piteously to be wiped off and 
have a dry jacket, that Bessie turned her attention 
to him. 

By the time she had dried his face, changed his 
jacket, and seated him by the fire, Addie had 
become thoroughly awake, and had joined him at 
the stove ; and now they wailed, and scolded Bessie 
in chorus. They were cold, they were dizzy, their 
heads ached, and they "felt sick all over," and 
Addie declared that Bessie had tried to poison 
them with her dreadful medicine. 

Bessie could hardly keep back her tears, but felt 
that she must make some defense. 

" Well," said she, " it is a queer kind of medi- 
cine to put you to sleep so, but I meant to cure 
you of your coughs, and I guess it will ; when your 
headaches go off, you will find yourselves all well." 

But this consoling reflection did n't seem to have 
much effect upon her patients ; they were in a 
most limp condition of body and unsatisfactory 
state of mind, so she turned her attention to the 
baby, which was still asleep. She took it up, shook 
it gently, and wetted its face with cold water ; it 
was beginning to awaken when Addie, who had 
been looking on in sullen silence, suddenly thought 
of something. 

" Bessie," said she, "bring me that little look- 
ing-glass that hangs under the clock. I am so 
dizzy that I know I 'd fall over if I tried to go for it 

The looking-glass was immediately brought. 
Addie took one look into it, and turned on Bessie, 
furiously: " You mean thing ! You story-teller ! 
You said it would take the mole off of my nose, and 
you have made me sicker than I ever was in my 
life, and there is the mole yet, as big as ever it 

was. Now you just go home, and I '11 tell mother 
the instant she comes back ! " 

Bessie was almost crushed. "But the baby," 
said she, faintly, glancing at the child on her arm, 
which was falling asleep again. 

" I '11 take care of her," answered Addie. " I 'd 
do it if I was a good deal sicker, before I 'd let you 
touch the dear little soul again. Just go ! " 

And Bessie took up the bottle and spoon, and 
crept home, with the sick feeling about her heart 
that many an older philanthropist has learned to 
know so well. 

Going into the house, she found her mother in 
the sitting-room, and, setting the bottle down on 
the tabic with a rap, she said, with all the force she 
could summon: "There, I don't think much 
of that medicine, anyway ! " 

"Why, whatever in the world have you been 
doing with it?" said Mrs. Ainsley. 

Then Bessie briefly related her adventure, end- 
ing with a burst of miserable tears. Serious as the 
matter was, in one aspect, Mrs. Ainsley had much 
ado to. keep from laughing ; but she managed to 
say, soothingly: "Well, there, don't cry about it; 
they will soon get over the headache, and then, no 
doubt, will be the better for the medicine, and I 
will make it right with Mrs. Dodds, if she ever has 
anything to say about it." 

Mrs. Dodds came the very next day, with a good 
deal on her mind " to say about it," but she was so 
mollified by receiving a present of a new dress for 
Addie, a comforter for Jimmie, and a warm sack 
for the baby, that she entirely omitted the highly- 
seasoned lecture which she had prepared upon 
" people minding their own business." 

About Christmas time, too, Jimmie received a 
present of a new jacket which, for buttons, rivaled 
that worn by the boy in the almanac; but I regret 
to state that Addie still carries the mole on her 

Do you wonder that Bessie's faith in patent 
medicines grew weaker after this ? 




By Mary A. Lathbury. 

What a flutter in the clover ! 

Did the South-wind pass ? 
No, — a dear old woman's garments 

Brushed it, and — alas ! — 
Six unmannerly young Daisies 

Giggled in the grass ! 

Alice, singing through the meadow, 
Called to Grandma, " See ! 

What a chance for daisy-faces ! 
Trust the dears to me ; 

I will make them caps and ribbons 
Neat as neat can be." 

While she deftly clipped and penciled 

Frill and frowning face, 
Six uncanny Daisy Grandams 

Blossomed out apace ; 
But the naughty Daisy Maidens 

Died of the disgrace. 

By Fannie Roper Feudge. 

"What is the Rosetta Stone, mother?" 
asked an intelligent lad of fourteen years. " I 
have just been reading that, by its help, the 
inscription on the coffin of a newly arrived mummy 
was readily deciphered, showing it to be the body 
of a renowned priest who lived more than three 
thousand years ago. I do not see what the 
Rosetta Stone had to do with deciphering the 
hieroglyphics on a coffin." 

" I am sorry, my son," replied the mother, " not 
to be able to give you the information you desire ; 
and I, too, have been curious to know in what 
consists the great value of this wonderful stone. 
Yet, while others have been talking so glibly of its 
merits, I have shrunk from betraying my igno- 
rance by asking what I have been longing to 

Perhaps some of those who spoke "so glibly" 
of the Rosetta Stone were not better informed than 

this gentle lady, whose constant cares in her kitchen 
and nursery left her little leisure for the study of 
books; and perhaps some of the boy and girl 
readers of the St. Nicholas, also, have been puz- 
zled to know just what this wonderful stone is. 
We see frequent allusions to it, in the sketches of 
Eastern tourists and in descriptive accounts of 
Egyptian antiquities, new specimens of which are 
being frequently brought to Europe and our own 
country ; while it is taken for granted that every- 
body knows all about the Rosetta Stone. Well, 
perhaps the grown folk do, but I am writing for 
the boys and girls, who. I feel sure, are not ashamed 
to ask the meaning of what they do not understand. 
Nobody knows everything ; nor is there any dis- 
grace in not knowing what one has had no oppor- 
tunity of learning ; but there is both sin and shame 
in remaining ignorant in order to appear wise. 
Now let me tell you in what the great value of the 




Rosetta Stone consists, so that you may the better 
understand its use. The art of writing was very 
early known to the Egyptians, and they had books 
before most other nations. This is proved by the 
writing implements found on monuments that are 
supposed to have existed before Moses was born. 
Clemens of Alexandria, who lived about seventeen 
centuries ago, states that in his day there were still 
extant forty-two sacred books of the Egyptians. 
They were all written in the old Egyptian charac- 
ters that we call hieroglyphics, and most of them 
have been lost ; while the manner of reading those 
strange characters had been entirely forgotten, so 
that the few fragments that remained seemed of 
little value. 

So it was, also, in regard to the inscriptions on 
the monuments and tombs and coffins — 
nobody could read them, or tell any- ^ 

thing of their history ; not even 
whether the hieroglyphics were / 

mere symbols of religion . ■■' j] ■; •'. 

and mythology, or ,.-<'.-' y ' ,* 

whether they were 
a real written - 

language ap- g5tflt.S^Hb£^5- B^^? MsISW2MlJfiSrf/^t^ 

plied to the g :■ ^0m ',**?*] KWgF) -HO mr mrmn nj iHy¥ V^fv^f/yU^Pli f ;V'F $1 
things ^^±W^tt^.U::'fflar^T.lrWK^3^e&^Wt*^^^ 

the Nile. Then, with new zeal and hope, scholars 
applied themselves to the task of deciphering these 
strange, mystifying symbols. But alas ! the key was 
still wanting. If they had only had an authentic 
translation of just one ancient Egyptian inscription, 
into any language known to modern scholars, 
they might, by analogy, have continued to work out 
the others. And this is precisely what the Rosetta 
Stone came forth from its grave to furnish. 

In August, 1799, Mons. Bouchard, a French 
officer of artillery, indiggingthe foundation ofare- 
doubt, at Rosetta, which 
stands at the ^ <^~.. : — 

mouth of 'l^if 1 *' ' ■• " 

the /»• ■■- •'■ '.,.. v '"■'■' ■ ' 

I i~m mamm *m: ^^ctvt^^s 


of every-day life. Scholars all over Europe had 
been puzzling over the problem for two or three 
hundred years, trying to find out some way 
of reading these wonderful hieroglyphics ; but for 
a long time with very little success. At length a 
Frenchman, named Ouatremere. found out that 
the Coptic was the language of the ancient Egyp- 
tians, but the books that have come down to our 
times are mostly written in the Greek characters, 
with the addition of seven others from the demotic, 
or common language of the country. This was, 
however, one step toward learning how to decipher 
the mysterious writing on the tombs and monu- 
ments ; and the famous expedition of Napoleon 
to Egypt furnished a second. The savants, or 
learned men, who accompanied his army, brought 
home exact copies of many inscriptions from 
Egyptian monuments ; and, after that, the country 
was thrown open to the investigation of the learned, 
and the various museums of Europe began to be 
enriched with the spoils taken from the banks of 

western branch of the Nile, found this stone. It is 
inscribed with various characters, which proved to 
be in three different languages, — that is, the one 
legend is inscribed three times, once in the old 
hieroglyphics, again in demotic characters, and the 
third time in Greek. 

This stone, which is now held as a priceless 
treasure in the British Museum, is of a kind known 
by the learned as black Semite basalt. It is four 
feet long by three feet broad, with one corner broken 
off, so that no one of the inscriptions was entire, 
although the larger part of all remained. 
Scholars saw at once its importance as a 
probable key to the reading of hieroglyphics; 
and the Antiquarian Society caused the 
inscriptions to be engraved and copies gener- 
ally circulated among the learned men of 
Europe. Their attention was, of course, first 
turned to the Greek, which, was found to be a 
recognition of the royal honors conferred on 
Ptolemy Epiphanes by the Egyptian priesthood 




assembled at Memphis ; 
and the concluding sen- 
tence directed that the de- 
cree should be engraven 
on a tablet of hard stone, 
in three ways — in hiero- 
glyphics, in demotic, or 
ordinary characters of the 
country, and in Greek. So 
with this key, coupled with 
an untold amount of study, 
the inscriptions on those old 
tombs and monuments have 
become intelligible, and we 
may now learn the names, 
ages, condition, and fre- 
quently something of the 
history, of those shriveled 
old mummies that are ex- 
humed and placed before 
us, after their burial for 
thousands of years. 

This is what the Rosetta 
Stone has done, and can 
you wonder that it is so 
highly prized ; or that the 
learned men who have so 
rejoiced in its discovery, 
should take it for granted 
that everybody else has been 
engrossed with it, like them- 
selves, and of course has 
learned all about it? 

The Moabite Stone, an- 
other famous relic of ancient 
times, was found in the year 
1868, by Mr. Klein, a mis- 
sionary traveling in the 
country of Moab. It was 
a thick slab of basalt, meas- 
uring about three feet five 
inches high and one foot 
nine inches wide. The in- 
scription upon it is the 
oldest existing writing in 
alphabetic characters, as it 
dates from about nine hun- 
dred years before Christ. 
It records the doings of 
Mesha, king of Moab, dur- 
ing the days of the Israel- 
itish prophet Elisha, and of 
Jehoram and Jehoshaphat. 
kings of Judah and Israel, 
mentioned in the Bible in 
second book of Kings. A 


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the third chapter of writing is given on page 32 of the second vol- 
full translation of the ume of Scribner's Monthly magazine. 





By Frank H. Converse. 

Jerry and I are twins, and, if we live till the 
twentieth of next July, we shall be sixteen years 
old. We are as much like each other in looks as 
two peas in a pod, but the likeness does n't go any 
further than our faces. I am hasty and quick-tem- 
pered, as they say father used to be, when he was 
young, while Jerry is a cool, steady-going sort of 
chap, as good as gold. The fellows call him my 
balance-wheel. He is more like what mother was. 
She died years ago, but, somehow, I never hear 
little Boler, in the next room to us, talking about 
his mother, and praising her up to the skies, with- 
out a lump comes up in my throat, and I have to 
make believe I see a fellow out of the window that I 
want to speak to. I guess, if our mother had lived, 
Jerry and I would not have outgrown her, as some 
chaps do theirs. "Honor thy father and thy 
mother," the Bible says, and you don't catch me 
going back of that. Dr. Burton told us, one Sun- 
day, that he " never knew of a boy that turned out 
bad who began by falling in love with his mother." 
And I think he is right. 

Dr. Burton is the Principal of the " College 
Institute," where Jerry and I are at school. He 
was mother's brother, but he lias been, and is, a 
regular father to us. We have lived with him ever 
since mother died ; and as for Aunt Burton, — 
well, she can't be improved on much, I tell you. 

You see, father is captain of the ship "Adelaide," 
and, like his father and grandfather before him, 
he is never contented ashore. He was home four 
years ago, for a day or two, and, oh, did n't Jerry 
and I beg of him to let us go just one voyage ! But 
no, he would not. 

" Stick to your books till you are eighteen years 
old," said father; "get geography and mathe- 
matics and navigation at your fingers' ends, and 
then," — he said with a kind of sigh, — " if you are 
still of the same mind, you can try a voyage." 

We felt pretty blue about it, for Terry and I both 
meant to follow the sea, yet we felt father was 
right. But it was a bit aggravating that he should 
have taken Dick Newell, who is but three years 
older than Jerry and me, away with him, and made 
him second mate before he had been gone a year. 
And when Dick came home, how he did brag ! 
You 'd have thought that father could n't sail the 
ship without him ! And he told everybody in 
Rivermouth that he was going first mate with 
Captain Harris on his next voyage. 

But just before father sailed from Savannah, he 

wrote to Jerry and me that he would rather not 
take Dick with him again. " He is a tolerable navi- 
gator," so the letter read, " and an excellent 'fair 
weather ' sailor, yet in any emergency I cannot 
depend upon him. But he thinks himself A No. I, 
and in an argument would try to prove that the 
Nautical Encyclopaedia was wrong and he right. 
He has once or twice kindly attempted to give me 
a little advice as to the shortest ways of making 
and taking in sail; but that, of course, I don't 
regard. If he lives to be forty years old, he will 
learn what an ass he was at twenty, as a great 
many others have done." 

I tell you, Dick felt pretty blue when Jerry let 
him know that father did n't want him again. But 
he went to New York a few days after, and wrote 
home from there that a rich fellow had engaged 
him as sailing-master for his new yacht. We 
found out afterward that this was a fib, for he was 
only one of the crew, which makes quite a differ- 
ence. But this was the last we heard of Dick 
Newell for ever so long. 

Aunt Joe is father's only sister, and though it 
seems funny to say it about a lady, she is a born 
sailor, like all the Harrises. She is pretty well on 
in life, — thirty-four or thirty-five, I think, — and for 
all she has so much money, she is not married. 
She has a nice house in Oldport, but she does n't 
stay there much. Summers, she just cruises along 
the coast in her yacht. And there was n't a better 
sea-boat anywhere than the " West Wind." Why, 
almost every winter she took a trip South, — 
round Hatteras, you know, — and two years ago 
she took a party clear to Havana, as comfortably 
and safely as though the " West Wind " was a thou- 
sand-ton Cunarder. Jerry and I always went with 
her in summer vacation, and Aunt Joe says, her- 
self, that either of us can work the yacht as well as 
Cap'n Morrison, an old coast pilot who used to go 
as sailing-master. 

" Generally speaking," says Aunt Joe, in her 
blunt way, "I don't fancy boys on board. They're 
apt to be rude, and sure to be sick. But you two 
'are exceptions, — owing to belonging to the Harris 
family, probably." 

Last summer holidays, Aunt Joe made up a little 
party for Mount Desert, and, good soul that she is, 
invited Jerry and me. 

Well, we carried our traps aboard, bright and 
early, the morning we were to sail, and who do you 
suppose was the first person we saw? You might 



have floored me with a feather cluster ! For, lo 
and behold ! in place of old Morrison, with his 
Scotch brogue, there was Dick Newell, with a cigar 
in his mouth, giving off orders to Sailor Dan, as 
important as though he were the Right Honorable 
Sir Joseph Porter, K. C. B. 

" Hello, boys!" he said, and shook hands very 
condescendingly ; but I could see that he did n't 
feel very glad to find us of the party. 

"So you've left the -Vesta,' eh. Dick?" says 
Jerry, as cool as you ptease, for he never seems 
taken aback at anything. 

with luggage enough for a voyage to Europe, cut 
his story short just at that moment. But he began 
to help the ladies aboard very politely ; so Jerry 
and I went below to stow away our traps. 

Oh, but the "West Wind" was a beauty, from 
her royal truck clear down to her keelson ! She 
measured about sixteen tons, and was schooner- 
rigged. She drew as much water as a pilot-boat 
of twenty tons, and Cap'n Morrison said that was 
what made her such a dry and safe boat in heavy 

The ladies' cabin was all finished off in bird's-eye 

" ' Cap'n Newell,' if you please," answered Dick, 
standing on his dignity; and I laughed out,— I 
could n't help it, to save rne. but Jerry never so 
much as smiled. 

"Yes," Dick went on, pretending not to notice 
my grin; " 't was too much responsibility, having 
to look after eight men aboard of a racing yacht, 
and only getting a hundred dollars a month. I 
wanted a hundred and twenty-five, but the owner 
is so mighty close, he did n't want to give more 
than "' 

It is lucky for Dick's conscience — if he has one — 
that the sight of Aunt Joe's party on the wharf, 

VOL. VII.— 42. 

maple and walnut. There were six berths; the 
lockers all had cushions on them ; there were a 
center-table and an easy-chair, both made fast to 
the floor; and, on one side, was a little bath-room. 
There was a store-closet between the ladies'and gen- 
tlemen's cabins, but you could pass right through; 
for the table was generally set in one end of the 
boat. The cook-room and pantry were forward, 
under deck, and old Dinah, the stewardess, kept 
things as neat as wax, and you 'd have laughed to 
see how carefully she stowed away the crockery 
and everything, in the racks back of the ice-room. 
" I guess Aunt Joe shipped her new sailing- 




master in too much of a hurry to look at his refer- 
ences, eh, Jerry?'' I whispered, while we were 
fixing our mattresses. For old Dinah told us, 
when she was setting the table, that Cap'n Morri- 
son had disappointed Aunt Joe at the last moment. 
That was why she had taken Dick Newell, on the 
strength of his own story, for we found out after- 
ward that he had boasted of having sailed a gen- 
tleman's yacht for years. 

"May be," answered Jerry, in his quiet way; 
"but don't you go to making a noise yet awhile; 
keep your mouth shut and your weather-eye open, 
my boy." 

" Very good." I answered, for Jerry is almost 
always right, and I generally mind him pretty 
well ; " but suppose he runs us ashore, or ■" 

" Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles 
you," interrupted Jerry, and I knew it was just as 
well to keep quiet. 

For, after all, Dick could work up latitude and 
longitude, and we had good charts of the coast. 
Besides, it would seem kind of mean, running to 
Aunt Joe with stories, when, like as not, he could 
get along as well as any one else if the weather 
held fair. And, if it came to the worst, Jerry and 
I knew two chaps who would do their level best, 

Oh, it 's just lovely, sailing out of Oldport, as 
we did that day, with a fair wind and summer sky ! 
The harbor is shaped like a big letter U. The 
town lies in the bend, and an island, which reaches 
half-way across the open part, separates it from 
the ocean. We ran through the ship channel, 
round Light-house Point, and there we were, right 
out to sea, with nothing between us and Europe 
but steamers and vessels. 

Aunt Joe has such a nice way of making people 
around her feel at their ease, that, in a little while, 
you 'd have thought we had known one another 
always. There were Mr. and Mrs. Mayfair, from 
Boston, who had been married but a little while, 
and kept calling one another "dear," and "love." 
She was a very bright, pretty young woman, and 
he was dressed like Ralph Rackstraw in "Pina- 
fore." His nobby little hat blew overboard before 
we got fairly outside. He had a big pair of 
opera-glasses strapped to him, and you would have 
laughed to hear him answer everybody "Aye, 
aye," and to see him hitch up his bell-muzzled 
trousers just like a mariner bold. 

Mr. Thorpe and his wife were from Chicago. 
They were tremendously rich, and neither of them 
ever had smelt salt water before. You could n't 
help liking him, he was so jolly, and was always 
saying something to make one laugh. So was 
Mrs. Thorpe, only she did n't do it on purpose. 
Jerry said that, in spite of her diamonds, she was 

a near relation to Mrs. Partington. Professor Hart 
was last, but not least, and just a splendid man. 
He did n't talk much, but what he said was worth 
listening to. Aunt Joe told us afterward that he 
used to sell papers in the street, and had worked 
his way up, — educated himself, as you might say, 

— and was now Professor of Mathematics at R 

University. " God helps him who helps himself," 
my copy-book says, and I believe it, clear down to 
the bottoms of my boots. 

After we were well clear of the land, Dick — for I 
sha'n't call him Captain Newell — got out a chart, 
and after considerable flourishing round with com- 
passes and parallel ruler, he told Dan, who was at 
the wheel, to keep her E. S. E., and then, I guess, 
he turned in, for I did n't see him again till toward 

Jerry and I always stand our regular watch 
and watch, "four hours on and four hours off," 
as the sailors say, so we got along swimmingly. 
The wind was right astern, and I don't think I 
ever knew the sea so smooth as it was that day, 
and all night, too, for that matter. 

Jerry, who is always noticing things, said that 
the sun set in a cloud-bank, and the barometer 
was falling ; but, for all I could discover, the 
weather looked well enough. Besides, it was the 
sailing-master's business to watch the weather, — 
not the sailor's. 

Next morning, everybody was on deck early 
to see the sun rise. It was so cloudy that we 
could only now and then see the sun itself, but the 
colors in the sky and sea were beautiful, I tell you. 
Up among the clouds, there was every shade of 
the rainbow, and the reflections on the moving 
water were a sight to see. 

All that morning the breeze kept freshening and 
working round, till by noon it was about north- 
east. By that time we were close-hauled on the 
wind, and the sea was " getting up," as Dan said. 
All the time we were heading our course ; but, for 
all that, we were edging away from the land little 
by little, till, what with the haze and the distance, 
it was shut out altogether. 

Aunt Joe herself did n't like the looks of the 
weather, and began to talk about running in, — 
" that is, if you 're sure of your whereabouts, Cap- 
tain Newell," she said to him. 

" If you say so, we '11 go about, mum," answers 
Dick, " for Cape Elizabeth lies just two points on 
the weather-beam; but it 's a pity to lose this 
wind because it looks a little cloudy." 

" But the barometer is falling," said Aunt Joe, 
sort of undecided. 

"Which it is apt to do in the finest weather, 
during the summer," was his answer, as bold as 
brass. So Aunt Joe said no more for the time. 




But about two o'clock that afternoon it came on 
heavy, and, I tell you, it blackened up in the 
north-west lively. And even our gallant sailing- 
master, who had been asleep below since dinner, 
allowed that we 'd better shorten sail and run in 
for land. So the four of us got the " West Wind " 
under reefs, and, if you 've never had a hand in it, 
you don't know what exciting work it is. But the 
women-folks seemed to think, with the slatting of 
the sails and all, that the yacht was going to 
tumble overboard, or something. 

But after we got under weigh again, if the 
"West Wind" did n't walk Spanish! The big 
green seas would cockle and crest half as high as 
her mast-head ; but she went topping over them 
like a — a — Mother Carey's chicken. Oh, but the 
" West Wind " was a bonny boat ! 

" Barometer going down, — dinner coming up," 
said Jerry, with a grin, as he staggered along 
where I stood at the wheel. He is one of those 
light-hearted chaps who never seem to worry, and 
that always makes me feel plucky. But Dick 
Newell, I am free to confess, looked flustered, and 
did n't seem to have much to say, anyway. 

Poor Mr. Mayfair! I can see him now, hanging 
over the lee-rail, wet through and bare-headed, 
groaning and sick. And Mr. Thorpe was moan- 
ing away in the lee scuppers, where he rolled 
around like a cask. 

About eight bells in the evening, things looked 
pretty blue ; there was never a sign of light on land, 
and the " West Wind" was fairly flying over as 
stormy looking a sea as you ever saw in a marine 
painting. • 

Finally, we decided to take in the reefed main- 
sail and lie-to under a balance-reef foresail and 
storm-jib until morning. " We Ml be carryin' the 
sticks out of her if we don't ! " shouted Jerry ; for, 
what with the wind and sea, we could hardly hear 
ourselves speak. 

He had n't the words well out of his mouth 
when, with a roar like a great tornado, the wind 
burst all at once out of the north-west, ten times 
harder than ever ! I thought we were gone, sure, 
and I remember I thought of father, and tried to 
pray, all in a second. The " West Wind" went 
down on her beam ends in the sea, and an awful 
wave, that boarded us, swept boat, water-casks, 
and a spare topmast smash through the bulwarks 
overboard ! Dan had his wheel hard up, but the 
yacht would n't pay off till, all at once, there was a 
crack like a cannon, and the mainmast, snapping 
off close to the deck, went over the side. 

"Hooray!" sings out Jerry, who was hanging 
on to the weather side of the house with Dick and 
me. For, the minute the mast went, the yacht 
righted, — the fore boom jibed over with a bang, 

and then such going ! It makes me hold my 
breath to think of it. One minute we 'd be almost 
becalmed in an awful gulf, with a black mountain 
of water ahead and astern ; the next we were spin- 
ning down a long descent, scooping up tons and 
tons of green sea at every plunge. 

Dick was in a regular daze. At one time he 'd 
think we 'd better heave to. Then he guessed 
we 'd better scud. And, finally, he said he did n't 
know what to do, and thought we 'd better all 

You can — no, you can't, either, — imagine what 
an uncomfortable time it was. The men-folk sick 
and frightened, the ladies frightened and sick. All 
but Aunt Joe and the Professor. Trumps, both of 
them. They handed us out some luncheon, and 
the Professor lent me his ulster. Every one of us 
on deck was a little wetter than a drowned rat. 

Finally, the weather began to moderate. Now, 
before Jerry and I had cut the mainmast clear of 
the side, the heel of it had given the "West 
Wind " one or two awful pokes under the quarter. 
And when I saw Jerry with the sounding-rod in his 
hand, I knew what he was thinking of. 

While he was watching his chance to get at the 
pump-well, Mr. Mayfair and Mr. Thorpe crawled 
on deck. 

"We can't — er — anchor, or, or — anything?" 
asked Mr. Mayfair. Poor man, he was frightened 
nearly to death, though now the wind and sea 
were going down, and there was a sort of break in 
the clouds. 

Dick Newell had just begun to spruce up and 
talk in an important kind of way about rigging a 
jury-mast, when Jerry came aft, as white as a 
sheet, with the sounding-rod in his hand. 

"Aunt Joe," he said, — and the brave fellow's 
voice shook just a little, — " it 's a pretty hard show 
for us; there are two feet of water in the hold, 
and I 'm afraid that a butt is started, where the 
mast struck." 

Well ! How I felt about that time, is neither here 
nor there. But I watched Jerry, and as he did n't 
show the white feather, I made up my mind that I 
would n't. 

"Oh, Lord," groaned Dick, "we 're lost, — 
we 're lost ! " 

" We '11 rig the pumps, anyway," muttered Dan, 
who was a whole crew in himself; and he went to 
work at once. 

Poor Mr. Mayfair took his young wife right into 
his arms before all of us, and fairly blubbered. 

" A feller don't care a copper for himself, Viola, 
dear," he said, "but when he 's got a wife " 

I always respected Mayfair after that, if he was a 
bit soft, and I slapped him on the back, half ready 
to cry myself. 

6 3 6 



" Good for you, old chap,'' I said. And I meant 
it, too. 

Just then it was, that the Professor came out in a 
new light. You should have seen him pump ! 
His long arms went like a perpetual motion. And 
when Dick Newell began to cut up rusty and say it 
was no use — he was n't going to use himself up for 
nothing, the Professor, who is as strong as a young 
steam-engine, just collared him and walked him to 
the pump-brake, where he kept him working lively 
for a time. It was Professor Hart, too, who went 
around encouraging everybody, beginning at Aunt 
Joe and ending with old Dinah. You see, we kept 
the yacht jogging along before the wind, barely 
hoping to meet a vessel, which was better than 
lying-to and sinking without trying to do anything. 
And while the Professor was ciphering out on the 
companion-way slide how long she could keep 
afloat, — so many cubic feet of air, to so much dis- 
placement of water, to such an amount of buoy- 
ancy, all at once he looked up, threw down his 
pencil, cut a regular pigeon's- wing, and shouted at 
the top of his voice : 

" A sail ! A sail ! " 

Sure enough ! It had been kind of thick and 
hazy round the horizon, but all at once it lifted, the 
sun shone out bright, and there was a full-rigged 
ship under top-gallant sails braced sharp up on the 
wind, heading right for us. 

We set our flag union-down, and the ship ran up 
her ensign, so we knew that she saw us. " When 
I saw the steeple of the little church," says Mark 
Tapley in Martin Chuzzlewil, "I thought it would 
a' choked me." Which was the way I felt when I 
saw the ship. 

" ' Feller's a — a — fool." said Mr. Mayfair, " that 
— er — says there 's no — a — Providence and all that 
sort of thing." His wife did n't make any answer, 
but her eyes were full of tears. 

I tell you there's no finer sight in the world than 
a big vessel under sail, especially to anybody situ- 
ated as we were. No painter ever painted any such 
picture as that ship made. She 'd heel over, as 
the wind freshened a bit, and you'd see the bright 
copper below the water-line glisten through the 
green seas ; then she 'd rise to her bearings and 
plunge forward with a great sheet of white foam 
round her bows — oh ! it was just grand. I sha'n't 
forget it — never. 

By the time she 'd run past us and hove to, our 
deck was level with the water. And, if you'll 
believe me, her boat had n't fairly got alongside, 
when that sneak Dick Newell made a break for 
it, the very first one ! But Professor Hart reached 
for him. " Wait your turn, you coward," he said, 
and the way he set him down on deck was beau- 
tiful. He waited. 

No one made much talk after we were fairly in 
the boat and were pushed off. Aunt Joe drew her 
hand across her eyes as she looked back and saw 
the " West Wind " give a lurch and disappear, and 
I came nigh sniveling, only for Jerry. 

1 ' She '11 have another one built inside of a year," 
he whispered, and Jerry generally knows what he is 
talking about, so I kept a stiff upper lip. 

" Tight squeak for you, mum," said the mate, 
who was steering. I guess he was n't much used 
to ladies, for he never opened his mouth again 
till we got on board. 

The boat was hoisted up and the ship got under 
way. The captain stood with his back to us, 
all the time, watching a sail through his glasses, 
as indifferent as a monument, just as though sav- 
ing a pleasure party from a sinking yacht was too 
common a thing to mind much. 

We all stood round on the quarter, awkwardly 
enough, till Aunt Joe stepped forward. 

" Captain," she said, touching his arm, " we owe 
our lives " 

" Bless my soul ! " exclaimed the captain wheel- 
ing round as if somebody had struck him ; " why 
— what ! " 

You should have seen all our faces — especially 
Jerry's and mine ! I guess the sailors thought Aunt 
Joe had found a long-lost lover, as people do in 

For Aunt Joe screamed, " Oh John, dear John," 
and fainted dead away in his arms! So, with 
Aunt Joe and two fellows about the size of Jerry and 
me, who bolted at him at the same time, the cap- 
tain V-as all struck aback. 

When a couple of chaps have not seen their father 
for four years, and are thinking he is three or four 
thousand miles off, and when all of a sudden they 
are plumped right down before him on a ship's 
deck in mid-ocean, as one might say, they 've a 
right to be a little hystericky, have n't they ? 

" Mr. Marline," said father to the mate, quite 
helplessly, "will you have the goodness to let 
the watch sway up the fore to'gallant halyards ! 
That will wake me up I guess," we heard him 
mutter, as he rubbed his hand across his eyes and 
looked at us all by turns, as if he were in a dream. 
But he did come to, at the boatswain's whistle, 
and then it seemed as if he 'd never stop asking 
questions and wondering. 

You see, the "Adelaide " had been ordered from 
Liverpool to Boston, instead of making a long 
voyage as father had expected. And so it was 
that he had got off our coast, just in time to pick 
us up, as the event proved. 

Well, we arrived in Boston two days afterward. 
safe and sound. 

"Viola and I are much obliged for hospitality 


AH L O . 


and that sort of thing," said Mr. Mayfair, as he put 
his wife into a hack on the wharf, and turned to 
bid us good-bye ; " but I guess we sha'n't go to 
sea any more. Feller whose liver 's out of order 
better stay home," lie added. 

"I 'm going to retire as far away from the blus- 
tering billows as ever I can," were Mrs. Thorpe's 
last words when they started for Chicago, and her 
husband said that after this his pleasure trips would 
be by land — he was too nervous, he said, for sea- 

going. Dick Newell sneaked off without saying 
anything, and afterward shipped in the " Rainbow," 
before the mast. 

Auntie Joe is going to have another yacht built, 
and she has invited the Professor to be present at 
the launching. This he said he would do with 
pleasure, as long as he could witness it from firm 
land. But father says Jerry and I have shown 
ourselves to be such good sailors that we shall go 
with him next voyage. Hurra ! 

By Robert S. Talcott. 

A merchant of China, one sunshiny day, 

Sat sipping his tea in a leisurely way, 

And thoughtfully twisted the end of his queue, 

While he pondered the question of what he should do. 

Ah Lo was his name, but, ah ! — high was his station ; 
His wealth gave him rank with the first of the nation. 
His wealth had increased to so great an amount, 
His houses and stores he no longer could count : 

So. — retiring from business, — relieved from all care, 

He resolved upon travel. The question was, — where ? 

He had been a large reader of travelers' books : 

Had read about " Stanleys." and ''Franklins," and "Cooks"; 

But ambition, like theirs, made him wish to explore 

Entirely new countries, ne'er heard of before. 

He thought on this subject by day, and night, too, 
But the deeper he thought the more puzzled he grew, 

6 3 8 



Till — sad to reflect on ! — the pressure and strain 
Of continual thinking subverted his brain. 
Since he could not on Earth, what he wanted, espy, 
He looked for his goal in the star-dotted sky. 
And, gazing at "Jupiter," "Venus," and "Mars," 
Became fully convinced he could get to the stars. 

This notion grew stronger, — at last he declared 

There was nothing a man could not do, — if he dared : 

He would travel as no other man had yet done, 

By shooting himself from the mouth of a gun. 

The gun was procured, and loaded with care ; 

Then placed in position, the muzzle in air. 

Ah Lo took his seat, with a smile on his face. 

Then a flash, — and a bang ! — and he started through space. 


Some few of his friends, who knew his sad plight, 
Still meet in his summer-house, night after night ; 
And, softly and silently sipping their tea, 
Wonder often, but quietly, where can he be ? 
We know he is gone, for we saw him depart ; 
In fact, we were present, and helped him to start ; 
But -where? — In the bustle and hurry of going 
He forgot to provide any means for our knowing." 





(A S/iort Tale in Short Words /or Boys both Tall and Slwrt. ) 

By Joseph Kirkland. 

ONCE there was a boy who was a good marks- 
man with a stone, or a sling-shot, or a bow-and- 
arrow, or a cross-bow, or an air-gun, or anything 
he took aim with. So he went about all day, aim- 
ing at everything he came near. Even at his 
meals he would think about good shots at the 
clock, or the cat, or the flies on the wall, or his 
mother's left eye-glass, or anything he chanced 
to see. 

Near where he lived there lived a little bird who 
had a nest and five young birds. So many large 
mouths in small heads, always wide open for food, 
kept her hard at work. From dawn to dark she 
flew here and there, over fields and woods and 
roads, getting worms, and flies, and bugs, and 
seeds, and such things as she knew were good for 
her young birds. It was a great wonder what lots 
of food those five small things could eat. What 
she brought each day would have filled that nest 
full up to the top, yet they ate it all and asked for 
more before daylight next morning. 

Though it was such hard work, she was glad to 
do it, and went on day after day, always flying off 
with a gay chirp, and back quick with a bit of some 
kind of food. And though she did not eat much 
herself, except what stuck to her bill after she had 
fed them, yet she never let them want; not even 
the smallest and weakest of them. The little fel- 
low could not ask as loudly as the others, yet she 
always fed him first. 

One day, when she had picked up a worm, and 
perched a minute on a wall before flying to her 
nest, the good marksman saw her, and of course 
aimed at her and hit her in the side. She was 
much hurt and in great pain, yet she fluttered and 
limped, and dragged herself to the foot of the tree 
where her nest was, but she could not fly up to her 
nest, for her wing was broken. She chirped a little 
and the young ones heard her, and as they were 
hungry they chirped back loudly, and she knew all 
their voices, even the weak note of the smallest of 

all, but she could not come up to them, nor even 
tell them why she did not come. And when she 
heard the call of the small one she tried again to 
rise, but only one of her wings would move, and 
that just turned her over on the side of the broken 
wing in a droll way. I think the boy would have 
laughed if he had seen her tumble over. 

All the rest of that day the little mother lay- 
there, and when she chirped her children answered, 
and when they chirped she answered, only when 
the good marksman chanced to pass near by ; then 
she kept quite still. But her voice grew fainter 
and weaker, and late in the day the young ones 
could not hear it any more, but she could still hear 
them. Some time in the night the mother-bird 
died, and in the morning she lay there quite cold 
and stiff, with her dim eyes 
still turned up to the nest 
where her young ones were 
dying of hunger. 

But they did not die so 
soon. All day long they 
slept, until their hunger 
waked them up, and then 
called until they were so tired 
they fell asleep again. And 
the next night was very cold, 
and they missed their moth- 
er's warm breast, and before day-dawn they all died, 
one after the other, excepting the smallest, which 
was lowest down in the nest. And in the morning 
he pushed up his head and opened his yellow 
mouth to be fed ; but there was no one to feed 
him, and so he died, too, at last, with his mouth 
still wide open and empty. 

And so, the good marksman had killed six birds 
at one shot, — the mother and her five young ones. 
Do you not think he must be a proud boy ? 
Should you not like to do the same? 

If you know him, please read this little tale to 
him. He may like to hear it. 







By Sphinx. 

THIS queer-looking page of queer-looking heads 
looks strangely like a puzzle ; and perhaps it might 
puzzle you to know where they all came from, and 
who they are. They come from different countries 
on the continent of Europe, and you would see just 
such heads, with just such hats and head-gear, if 
you traveled there now. The one up in the left- 
hand corner need not be explained, as he looks the 
picture of a jolly Irishman, with a sprig of sham- 
rock and a pipe tucked in his hat, just coming 
from a fair; while the man with a mask, looking at 
him, conies from sunny Naples, where he acts the 
part of a clown, and is always seen at the carnivals 
and merry-makings. Very unlike is he to his two 
neighbors on the right, — the one a solemn Spanish 
priest, with a long shovel-hat, and the other a still 
more solemn old English guardian of the Tower of 
London, dressed in a costume of the time of Henry 
the Eighth ; he feels his dignity and position, but 
not as much as does the officer just below him, 
who is one of the Horse Guards, and is used to 
being stared at by every one. The three in a row 
just in front of him are all from the British Isles, 
and live a long distance from the strange, odd- 
looking old man in the row beneath, who is a dig- 
nitary of Persia, and has to bow his tall, fur hat 
before the Shah, his master. I do not think you 
would find his neighbor, who is just opposite to 
him, so servile and obedient, for he comes from the 
mountains of the Tyrol, and much prefers his free 
life — wandering over the hills with his gun — to liv- 
ing in any court, however gorgeous. The Tyrolese 
hunter seems to be poking his gun into a very 
staid individual with a large cocked hat. He looks 
as if he were a very grand personage, and, in fact, 
he feels himself to be such, for he is the coachman 
of a Neapolitan prince, and feels much prouder 
than his master as he sits on his coach with his 
best livery. He looks down with contempt on the 
poor fisherman, his countryman, below him; but 
the fisherman, with his red cap, does n't seem to 
care, for he sings all day long as he pulls in his net 
with a few sardines, and is as happy as a king. 
His singing is very different from the singing of 
the old, fat monk, who goes about begging in a 
very old rusty-brown gown, and who chants his 

prayers two or three times a day through his nose. 
The only hat that he has is the long, peaked hood 
at his back, which can be drawn over the face at 
pleasure. He seems to be staring at a French 
Zouave, with turban and bronzed face, who has 
been in the wars in Algiers ; and also at an Italian 
sharp-shooter, who seems weighed down beneath 
his load of cocks' feathers ; in fact, these plumes 
are so large that they seem to cover the entire side 
of his hat and shoulder ; he is very vain, however, 
of his head-dress, and he would not exchange it 
for the monk's old brown hood for any money. 
The only ornament the little Breton baby has on 
his cap is a big worsted tassel, and that is the way 
they dress the boy-babies in Brittany ; the girls 
have a similar cap, but no tassel, so the queer 
little head put by the soldier is a little Breton boy. 
Down in the left-hand corner is one of the French 
gendarmes, who are seen all over Paris, and they 
maintain order and quiet, as the police do. He has 
a very picturesque hat, and he knows how to put 
it on in a very Frenchy way ; and when he throws 
the end of his cloak over one shoulder and waxes 
out his moustaches, he thinks he is a perfect mar- 
vel of beauty. But he is not really so handsome, 
nor so picturesque, as his Italian neighbor, who is 
only an Italian peasant, and comes from a little 
mountain town, where he sleeps and dances all 
summer, tends a few olive-trees and vines in the 
autumn, and sits as a model to the artists at Rome 
in the winter; for he has very large, dark eyes, and 
long hair and beard, and looks very well in a pict- 
ure ; better, you think, than the little man with a 
pointed cap, who is a French student listening to 
a very dry lecture; or the Breton peasant with his 
low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat ; or the man 
with a large head and curly hair and an astonish- 
ingly little cap perched on top of it over his fore- 
head. He is a German student, and the little cap 
is very important, as it shows to what society he 
belongs ; it is more for ornament than for protec- 
tion. He is fond of fighting duels with a little 
narrow sword, and sitting by the hour with a big 
pipe in his mouth and a large glass of beer by his 
side. His queer face and odd littie round cap 
finish our page, bringing us to the last corner. 






By Fl.orence 

On the south coast of England is the little 
village of Swanston, consisting chiefly of fisher- 
men's cottages. The few houses of any preten- 
sions it possesses are built along the front, facing 
the sea, and this part of the village is called the 
Marine Parade. In the summer these houses are 
let to the few families who come to enjoy the pure 
air and good bathing, without the noise and dress 
of more fashionable seaside places. 

In one of the cottages lived a fisherman, named 
Jem Price. He was not a native of Swanston. 
having come there about six or seven years before, 
with his wife, and one child about a year old. 
Mrs. Price was a neat, industrious woman, and 
Jem's cottage, in her time, was very bright and 
cheerful ; the little child was well clothed and fed, 
and Jem always looked happy. Unfortunately, his 
good wife died about a year after their arrival, and 
poor Jem, feeling very lonely, and with the baby on 
his hands, married again. His second wife was a 
careless, untidy woman, who did not take very good 
care of her own children, and paid still less attention 
to little Jacky, who, at the time our story begins, 
was about eight years old. He was a pretty, bright 
little fellow, with fair, curlv hair and dark blue 

eyes, and, in spite of his poor home, would sing 
and play merrily enough with the other children 
on the beach, and was always ready to do an 
errand for any of the neighbors, who would often 
call him in and give him a dinner and a seat by 
their fire in the winter. 

Everybody liked Jacky, and sometimes he was 
fortunate enough to earn a sixpence by holding a 
horse for some gentleman. 

One day, as the season was just beginning, Jacky, 
on the look-out for jobs, was walking down the 
High street on his way to the Parade. He saw- 
one of his playmates, Molly, a child about seven 
years old, struggling with a boy much bigger than 
she was. Molly was the daughter of a poor Irish 
fruit-woman, who had often been kind to Jacky, so 
he ran quickly to see what was the matter. When 
he came up, the boy ran away with two apples, 
which he had taken from Molly. The little girl 
was selling fruit for her mother, who was sick, and 
she cried bitterly as the boy made off with at least 
one quarter of her stock of apples. Jacky, who 
was a brave boy, and strong and active for his age, 
was after the thief in a minute, and, soon catching 
him, he threw him down and took the apples from 



him ; then he returned with them to Molly, flushed 
and panting. 

"Well done, my boy," said a voice, "you '11 
make a good soldier some day." 

Jacky looked up in astonishment and saw a tall 
gentleman, with a brown beard and moustache, 
looking kindly at him. The boy colored with 
pleasure at the praise, and gave his front hair a 
pull in salute. The gentleman tossed him a shil- 
ling and walked on, amused with the incident. 

"Who's that gentleman?" said Jacky. "I 
never saw him before, Molly ; did you ? " 

" Oh," answered Molly, " it 's the ossifer what's 
come and took Mrs. Hawkins's white house for 
the summer. He and his wife have got a little 
girl who comes down to bathe every mornin' in 
the sea, and sometimes she goes out on a pony; 
and just look. Jacky, there she is comin' along 

Jacky turned, and saw a pretty little girl, with 
large blue eyes and soft golden hair, coming up 
the street on a white pony, led by a groom. She 
turned into the Parade, and the children, follow- 
ing quickly, saw her stop at one of the largest 

The door opened, and the tall, brown-bearded 
"ossifer," as Molly called him, came down the 
steps and lifted the little girl from the pony. 
She ran into the house, gathering up her long- 
blue skirt, but soon appeared again with pieces of 
sugar for the pony, who looked intelligently at his 
little mistress and rubbed his nose against her. 
The pretty child looked pityingly at the ragged, 
forlorn little creatures, and brought out some 
biscuits to give them. 

When the pony was led off, Molly and Jacky 
walked slowly away, talking about the little girl 
and her wonderful horse ; but they soon parted, 
and Jacky went home. 

That evening, when he had finished his supper, 
he sat leaning his head against the door, looking 
out toward the sea; his thoughts full of the tall 
gentleman who had spoken so kindly to him, and 
of the beautiful little girl. He was roughly 
awakened from his reverie by a box on the ear. 
" Get out of my way," said his stepmother, who 
was just going out. "You've had your supper, 
so now go to bed and don't be settin' in the door 
to trip people up, as if I had n't plenty to do with 
my own children without being bothered by other 
people's." Jacky, knowing from experience what 
he might expect if he did not obey, was glad to 
slip off to his hard little bed. 

The next morning, Jacky went up the High 
street until he reached the baker's shop, and stood 
there looking at the tempting fresh rolls and loaves 
in the window. He had had a poor breakfast, and 

had given his shilling to his stepmother. He 
watched the people going in and out of the shop, 
looking wistfully at the bread they carried away. 
At last a stout, motherly-looking woman, accom- 
panied by a younger one, coming 'out of the 
baker's, stopped and looked at him. 

" Why, little boj', you look as if you 'd like a 
roll, eh ! I 'd sooner give you that than money, 
for I don't approve of beggars," said she. 

" Please, ma'am, I 'm pretty hungry," said Jacky. 
The kind woman bought a roll and gave it to him, 
Jacky thanking her warmly. 

"Well, Susan, it's a pleasure to see him so 
grateful. What nice eyes he 's got, just like Miss 
Lilile's, I declare. What 's your name, child ? 
Have n't you got a mother to mend your clothes a 
little ? " 

Jacky told her he had only a stepmother, and 
she looked pityingly at him and then walked on, 
saying to Susan: "Ah, what would the Colonel 
give for a boy like that ! His own son would have 
been just about that size if he had lived. Such 
a beautiful babe he was, and so proud and 
happy as they were when he was born ! I thought 
the mistress would have died when the news came 
of that dreadful shipwreck, and the Colonel was 
like to go out of his mind with grief." 

" Now, do tell me all about it, Mrs. Hunter. I 
never heard tell of it before," said Susan. 

" Well, Susan, you must know India has a very 
bad climate, and the little English children don't 
thrive there at all. So when Miss Lillie, who was 
born there, was about two years old, she began to 
pine away, and had n't a bit of color in her cheeks, 
and at last the mistress sent her over to her mother 
in England, and for some time they thought she 'd 
never live, so delicate was she. Then, when the 
other child was born, about six months after Miss 
Lillie had left, the mistress said she would n't risk 
his precious life, and as soon as he was a year old 
she sent him, with his black nurse, the ayah, and 
a family she knew, that was going home to England. 
It nearly broke her heart to part with him, but she 
would n't leave her husband, and she knew it was 
saving the life of the children. Well, the voyage 
seemed to be got over pretty well, but just as they 
were nearing home an awful storm came on, and 
something, I don't know what, got wrong with the 
steamer, and it foundered on some rocks, in a fog ; 
and though they said the sailors worked hard and 
did their best, still some of the lives of the passen- 
gers were lost, and among them poor Mrs. Sey- 
mour's sweet baby, and the ayah, too. The mother 
seemed as if she could never get over the loss, and 
even now, though it 's more than six years ago, 
and she tries to be gay and cheerful with the 
Colonel and Miss Lillie, I often see her eyes fill 




with tears when she looks at the sea, or at some little 
boy, and she says to me : ' Ah, nurse, if only my 
little Cecil had lived ! How could I ever have 
sent my darling from me ! ' " 

" Poor lady ! " said Susan, " no wonder she can't 
bear Miss Lillian out of her sight. How she must 
have longed to see her after the other one was 

" Yes, indeed; but soon after the dreadful trial 
of losing their little boy, the Colonel gave up the 
army, and they left India ; which I really think was 
the saving of the mistress's life, for it was a great 
consolation for her to have the other child with 

Chatting thus, the two servants soon arrived at 
the house Colonel Seymour had hired for the sum- 
mer ; the pure air of Swanston having been recom- 
mended for his little daughter, who, like many 
other children born in India, was very delicate and 
required great care. 

In the course of the morning Jacky strolled down 
to the beach, and he had not walked far, before he 
saw little Molly, the fruit-girl, lying asleep on the 
sand. She had been out for some hours with her 
fruit-basket, and had now come down to the beach 
for a little play. But she was so tired, that after 
gathering a few shells she lay down and soon fell 
asleep. Jacky saw that the tide was coming in, 
and that the water would soon reach the sleeping 
girl; and he was just about to awaken her, when a 
very interesting sight caused him to forget all 
about her. Colonel Seymour, his wife and little 
daughter were walking on the beach, at a short 
distance, evidently looking for a boat in which to 
take a sail. 

" Boat, sir? Nice day for a sail, sir, and you 'd 
find the ' Fairy ' is about the best boat here, sir," 
said a boatman approaching the party. 

"Very well, my man," said the Colonel, "get 
her ready. We '11 see if we can catch some fish 
for mamma, Lillie." 

The little girl clapped her hands, and the fisher- 
man lifted her into the boat very carefully, as if he 
were afraid such a dainty little creature would 
break in his strong hands. Then the others got 
in and they pushed off, several boys running up 
to help, among whom was our little friend Jacky, 
who gazed with great admiration at the sailing 
party, particularly at Mrs. Seymour, wbose face, 
in some way, seemed familiar to him. 

He wandered off by himself, not feeling inclined 
to play, and puzzling his brains to remember where 
and when he could have seen Mrs. Seymour before. 
He scrambled upon a rock from which he could see 
the boat ; he heard the laughter of Lillie, as she 
dipped her hands in the water and splashed her 
father, and saw the Colonel shake the drops off 

his beard and pretend to throw the mischievous 
little sprite into the sea ; and he saw her mamma 
lean forward, half in play and half in fear, to stop 
such wild pranks. 

Jacky felt sad, and the tears rose to his eyes as 
he thought of his miserable home and unkind step- 
mother. He wondered if that gentleman wanted 
a boy to help in the stables or anything ; he would 
be so happy if they would take him. He sat on 
the rock for a long, long time, and then, all of a 
sudden, he remembered Molly, and ran off to the 
place where she had been lying. She was not to 
be seen, and for a moment Jacky was frightened. 
" I wonder if she is drowned ! " he said to himself. 
" I '11 run up to her house and see if she 's there." 
But just as he started he happened to see the fish- 
ing-boat come in. This attraction was too strong 
for him, and he ran down the beach, reaching the 
boat just as the party stepped ashore. 

'• Hallo, here 's the champion of the apple-girl 
again," said Colonel Seymour. " Here, boy, come 
and carry this basket up to the house for us." 

Jacky ran up, charmed at being employed, and 
walked up after them, listening to their merry 
talk. Lillie turned round now and then to see if 
the precious basket of fish was being safely carried, 
looking at the ragged little boy with curiosity. 

"Tell me about him, papa," she said, and the 
Colonel related the story of Jacky's fight for the 

Mrs. Seymour then, also, turned and looked at 
him with interest, and when they arrived home 
she slipped an extra shilling into his hand, besides 
the one her husband had given him. Jacky, 
astounded at such sudden riches, thanked the lady 
very earnestly, but still stood standing by the door- 

"Is there anything else you want?" said Mrs. 
Seymour, kindly, as she was about to enter the 

" Oh, please, ma'am," cried Jacky, looking anx- 
iously up into her face, with his wistful blue eyes, 
" do, do take me for a servant boy ; I can help in 
the stables and do anything you tell me. I don't 
want no wages, only please let me come, sir," he 
added, imploringly, turning to the Colonel, who 
answered : 

"Why, my boy, you are very anxious to work. 
At your age, I should have thought you would 
have preferred making mud pies, or toy boats. 
Why do you want so much to come to us, eh ? " 

" 'Cause — 'cause you speak so kind, sir, and I 'd 
like to be one o' your soldiers, sir, when I 'm 
growed up," said Jacky, hanging his head and 

The Colonel asked Jacky his name, and after 
promising to think about the matter, and perhaps 



see his father on the subject, he sent Jacky to have 
a good dinner in the kitchen, promising not to for- 
get him, and the boy went home full of hope and 

" Hugh, I like that boy's face so much," said 
Mrs. Seymour, '■ I am sure he is a good little fellow. 
We really must see after him, poor child, he looks 
so neglected, and seems quite devoted to you. He 
must have a good heart to be so grateful for a few 
kind words." 

That afternoon, as Colonel Seymour was walking 
through the village, he inquired for Jem Price, and 
some boys, who were playing at ball, pointed 
out Jacky's father standing on the beach. 

Dover, and one night as was awful foggy and dark, 
besides a bit of a gale blowing, the men came crying 
out that there was a steamer struck agin some 
rocks out there, and was agoin' down. Some of us 
tried to go out and help, but the fog was that thick, 
we could n't do no good. Early the next morning 
we was all out, but nothing was left of the ship but 
pieces floating about all over the sea, and bales of 
goods and baggage of all kinds was being washed 
up. Well, sir, I was out in my boat seeing what I 
could pick up, when I see a barrel floating toward 
me. I know'd by the way it floated that there was 
something weighty in one end of it, and so I pulled 
it near and lifted it into my boat, and what should 

- --fc ._. 


Colonel Seymour went up to the man and spoke 
to him. He was a rough, good-humored looking 
fellow, and seemed pleased when the gentleman 
spoke to him of Jacky. Colonel Seymour said he 
liked the boy, and was willing to find some good 
employment for him if the father wished it. The 
fisherman looked thoughtful, and, after some hesi- 
tation, said : 

"Well, sir, it's rather a curious story, but he 
aint my child at all, nor I don't know whose he is ; 
and if it had n't been for my first wife, poor Mary, 
what's dead, he'd be on the parish now, most 

" Tell me all about it," said the Colonel. 

"Ay, ay, sir. Well, about five or six years ago, 
I and my wife Mary, that was, sir, were living near 

I find but a baby lying in the bottom of it, seem- 
ingly dead. It was rolled up in a queer sort of 
fashion, with a silk scarf. I rowed quickly back 
and took it to Mary. She undressed it, and we 
found it was n't quite dead, though very nigh ; so 
she warmed and coaxed it like, and at last it sat 
up and began to cry. It was too little to talk much, 
being about a year old, but the few words it did 
say were a strange sort of gibberish — Mary thought 
French. Anyhow, it was n't English, and its clothes 
looked furrin, too. Mary wouldn't hear of my 
taking it to the parish folks, and said if its parents 
was alive they would be sure to come and look for 
it, and if they were n't, there was n't no good taking 
it to the parish, as it was a furrin child. So, as we 
had n't got any of our own, and Mary begged hard 




to be let keep it, I gave in, and nobody ever came to 
look for the child, nor we never heard of any adver- 
tisements about it, so here he is still ; for when poor 
Mary died, I 'd taken a fancy like to the little fellow, 
and would n't part with him, though I 've got plenty 
of my own now." 

Colonel Seymour gave great attention to this 
story, and he asked Jem what was the name of the 
steamer and where it came from. 

" They said it was bringing soldiers from abroad, 
sir. I don't remember the name. It was just six 
years ago this June, and my Mary died the year 
after. She made me promise always to be good to 
the boy, and to keep his clothes, for some day his 
relations might turn up; but they never have, and 
I don't expect they ever will, now. None of the 
folks here knows but he 's my child, for we came 
here as strangers and never told anybody about 

"Have you the clothes now? Can you show 
them to me? " asked the Colonel, eagerly. 

"Yes, sir, certainly I can." 

" Come on, then," said the Colonel, and to- 
gether they walked to Jem's cottage. 

Jem Price went into an inner room, and after 
searching some time, and turning out an old sea- 
chest, he brought in a bundle. The wife and 
children gathered round in a state of great curios- 
ity, as the bundle was untied, and a little faded 
pelisse was brought out ; it was embroidered all 
over with silk, that had been white but was now 
discolored by time and sea-water. 

The Colonel's eyes sparkled and his voice was 
quite husky as he asked if he might take it to show 
to his wife. It was possible that he knew the 
parents of the child, he said. Jem agreed, and 
Colonel Seymour slipped a sovereign into his hand, 
and taking the pelisse rolled up, walked quickly 
home. He now felt convinced that their long-lost 
boy was found, but hardly knew how to break the 
news to his wife, fearing that the shock, although one 
of joy, would be almost too much for her. 

However, he gave the little bundle to nurse 
Hunter, telling her to bring it in when he rang the 
bell. His wife had come home from a walk, and 
was taking her afternoon tea with Lillie. 

He sat down to the table, and, in as natural and 
easy a manner as he could command, he told the 
story that he had heard from Jem Price. Mrs. 
Seymour turned pale, her hand trembled as she 
put down the cup. 

" Hugh ! " said she, " can I see those clothes? " 

The Colonel rang the bell, and nurse Hunter 
entered with the little pelisse. Mrs. Seymour 
started up and snatched it from her. With trem- 
bling hands she turned it over. On one end of it 
she saw her child's initials, embroidered by herself. 

" It is Cecil's ! " she cried, and fell back fainting. 

When Mrs. Seymour had been restored to con- 
sciousness she insisted upon being taken immedi- 
ately to her son, but the Colonel had sent for 
Jacky, and in a few minutes he was with them. 

We shall not try to describe the scene. There 

was no doubt about Jacky's identity. The lost 
child was found ! 

Poor Jacky was in such a state of bewilderment 
that he was almost incapable of understanding what 
they said to him. Only after his real parentage 
had been explained over and over again did the 
truth slowly begin to dawn upon his mind, and 
then his joy seemed to overcome him. " That 
beautiful lady his mother! That gentleman his 
father ! and Jem, who was he ? How could it be ? " 
At last, he was taken off by nurse Hunter, who, 
after he had enjoyed a warm bath, put him into a 
soft, white bed, and the lady, his mother, came and 
leant over him, kissing him and talking lovingly to 

And she brought him nice things to eat, such as 
lie had never tasted before, and while he was sitting 
up in his bed and eating, hoping he was not going 
to wake out of this delicious dream just yet, the 
tall, kind gentleman came and kissed his forehead, 
and Lillie sat on the side of his bed and chattered 
to him, until nurse came and took her off. And 
then, Jacky, who had never had so many kisses 
since he was a baby, soon fell asleep. 

The next morning, Jem Price arrived. The 
father and mother asked a few more questions as 
to the time and place of the wreck, and found the 
"gibberish," that Mary took for French, was very 
much like a few words of Hindostanee that the 
Colonel repeated, and that " Ghitah, Ghitah " was 
what the baby had often cried at first, which Mrs. 
Seymour recognized as the name of his ayah. 



Jem was rewarded liberally, and went off con- 
gratulating himself on his good luck. His cross 
wife, though, upbraided him bitterly for not having 
told her before that Jacky was a gentleman's child, 
as she might have come in for the good graces of 
the lady and gentleman. 

Mrs. Seymour went out with nurse Hunter to 
get some clothes for her boy, and bought a pretty- 
sailor suit. " We will have some nicer things sent 
from London as soon as possible, but for the pres- 
ent these will do," said the mother. " We must 
teach him to talk properly, poor little fellow; he 
does n't even know his letters ; but we must not 
worry him','' she added, " for he has been running 
wild so long, and the first thing he must learn is to 
be happy." 

Jacky, or Cecil, as he was now called, felt very 
odd in his new clothes, and at first found his shoes 
very uncomfortable, and he couldn't get over his awe 
of James the tall footman, whom' he often called 
" sir." But everybody in the house was very gentle 
and patient with him, and, in a week or two, the 
little ragamuffin would hardly have been recog- 
nized in the tidy, well-dressed little boy, with 
his golden curls arranged so prettily by his 
mother's own slender fingers. 

Lillie could not help laughing at his first attempts 
with his knife and fork, but he was very quick to 
learn, eager to improve, and he soon became 
quite a little gentleman in his manners and habits, 
as he had always been in nature. 

He was devoted to his father, would trot about 
after him like a little dog, and the Colonel said, 
laughingly, that at least the stepmother had saved 
them the trouble of teaching him obedience, if 
her other lessons had not been so good. 

Mrs. Seymour went to see all the women who 
had been kind to her child, and thanked them so 
sweetly that she won all their hearts. 

One of the first walks that Cecil took, after he 
got his new clothes, was to little Molly's house. 
He had heard nothing from her, and he was afraid 
that perliaps she had been drowned when the tide 
came in, but he found her quite well and hearty ; 
and Mrs. Seymour, who was with him, compen- 
sated for Cecil's forgetfulness by a handsome pres- 
ent to his little friend. 

When the family left Swanston to return to town, 
Mrs. Seymour had quite regained her health and 
cheerfulness ; and Lillie, enchanted at having a 
brother of her own, went back with the roses of 
health in her cheeks. She read all the wonderful 
stories about " Blue Beard," " Cinderella," " Hop- 
o'-my-Thumb," etc., to her brother, who was very 
much interested, although his papa's histories of 
tiger and bear hunts pleased him rather better. 

And here we will leave him in his happy home. 
True, there are many other children whose homes 
are just as happy, but few of these have had 
the experiences of neglect and poverty passed 
through by our little hero, and so can never 
value their advantages as he grew to value his. 


By Oi.ivf. Thorne Miller. 

Maggie has two homes. 

First, there is the home she has always lived in, 
with her parents and brothers and sisters. It is a 
back basement room, with scarcely a piece of whole 
furniture in it ; a broken-down kitchen stove, a 
pile of rags for a bed, a dilapidated table, the 
remains of a few chairs, and a floor always* damp. 
The children look as you might expect, pale, 
gaunt, ragged, silent, often cold and hungry, and 
never in the least childlike. In a home of this sort, 
if a child falls ill, it lies unnoticed in the corner, 
with not one of the comforts of a sick-room, no 
soft bed, no cool drink, no dainty food, no kind 
nurse ; but with the noise and confusion of the 
family and neighbors in the crowded house, and 

the heated stove, with cooking or whatever house- 
work is done, close to the sufferer. 

Three hundred and fifty-nine days of every year, 
Maggie lives in this dreadful place, and only six 
days in the pleasant home you are to hear about. But 
those six long summer days are packed so full of 
happiness and pleasure that they bring color to her 
face, smiles to her lips, and strengthen her for 
another long year. In truth, the effects of that one 
week on Maggie, and others like her, seem like 
magic, — they are the magic of sunshine and fresh 

Turn from the sad picture of Maggie's home in 
the city and hear about the other home, which 
all the long summer through, is filled with girls like 


Maggie, from the 
uncomfortable attics, 
and horrible cellars, 
from the dark back 
rooms, and crowded 
dens of the ten- 
ement houses : 
one hundred 
and fifty 
girls at a 
time, and 
for each 
one a de- 
li ghtfu 




that helps the poor 

little creature to be good and 

patient all through the long, dreary winter. 

In the first place, it is in the country, with a big 
grassy yard, full of trees and swings, and everything 
that 's nice ; in the second place, it is on the beach, 
with delicious sea-breeze and delightful sea-bathing ; 
and last — and best — there live in it a real fairy- 
godmother sort of a woman, with a big motherly 
heart for suffering children, and a kind-hearted 
gentleman who must have a perfect giant of a 
market-basket, so full of good things does he keep 
the pantry and cellar, for the children's benefit. 

Ah, — good air. good beds, good food (and plenty 
of it) and good times are the real doctor's for little 
people. You would n't know Maggie after she 
has spent that happy week in the Summer Home. 

And she has had something else as well as a 
good time. She has had the benefit of gentle dis- 
cipline free from hardship and pain. She has for 
once had the satisfaction of undressing at night, of 
climbing into a pretty little bedstead, and lying 
between nice smooth sheets. The poor little thing, 
tossing afterward on the heap of rags, may long so 
much for a return of these comforts that she will 
resolve to learn all she can, and so better her con- 
dition. Thank heaven ! Ways of learning to be 
good scholars and good workers are now open in 
our cities to all poor little girls,* so that even the 
most destitute may hope to be able, in time, to 
earn comforts and even luxuries for themselves. 

* See " Little Housemaids," ii 

But now, at the Summer Home, Maggie is given 
over wholly to enjoyment. It is a charming sight ; 
a hundred and fifty poor children, so happy they 
hardly know how to believe in it, romping and roll- 
ing on the grass, playing croquet, bean-bag, or 
"tag,"singing morningand eveningsongs, drinking 
delicious milk (a hundred quarts a day), frolicking 
in the big play-room, — like a clean, sweet barn, — 
and jumping and screaming with delight in the surf. 

At first, as you may suppose, hard-working 
and ignorant fathers and mothers in the hot city, 
back there, could hardly believe their ears when 
the children were invited to spend a week in the 
country, where there were plenty to eat and fine 
times to be had. They wondered why it was done, 
and suspected that there was some bad reason for 
this nice-seeming plan. " These people must want 
to carry off our children," they thought, " or dis- 
turb their religion, or do something else bad, or they 
would not be taking our ragged girls into the 
country at their own expense." 

They loved their own children perhaps as well as 
happier parents, and most of them refused to con- 
sent to what they decided must be a trap of some 
sort ; only a few, who had known the city mission- 
aries for years, would let their children go. Nothing 
more was needed, however. When those young- 
sters came back, fat and rosy, and full to overflowing 
of the " splendid times " they had had, there were 
no more refusals of invitations ; in fact, the refusals 
came from the other side ; the kind managers, who 
easily could fill a house twice the size of the Summer 
Home they have, were forced to refuse the children. 

Each year, as charitable people have found out 
about it, and given the society money to do so, the 
Home has been made larger; now, one wing built 
for a dining-room, with big bed-room overhead, by 
the kindness of one lady; and then another, with a 
pleasant play-room below and another big bed- 
room above, by another lady ; till last summer they 
could entertain a hundred and fifty at once. Hap- 
pier people delight in helping on the good work ; 
children empty their savings banks, and Sunday- 
school classes unite their pennies to send one or 
more unhappy little creature from the city. It 
does not cost much either ; two dollars will give 
one girl this long week, make her happier for a 
year, and better for all her life. 

Girls,'I say — and I'm sorry to say it, for boys 
were included in the plan by its kind-hearted 
founder, — a lady on Staten Island, — and at first they 
were taken out every other week as the girls were ; 
but alas ! the boys could not be satisfied to get all 
possible fun out of the Home itself; they carried 
their habit of lawless mischief with them. They 
overran the neighbors' gardens, they picked the 
flowers and carried off the fruit ; they broke the 
St. Nicholas for April, 1879. 




managers were obliged to decide that they never 
could spend a week in the Summer Home, and 
that one day's picnic in the season must suffice 
for each boy. 

So now, after the girls have gone home, and 
more than two thousand of them have enjoyed 
their week, the boys come down in parties of 
one or two hundred at a time, and return the same 
day. They are a queer picnic party, you may be 
sure. Two hundred boys gathered from the 
streets, and regular little ragamuffins, such as 
you see in the city hanging on wagons at 
the risk of their lives, scudding across the 
streets under the feet of the horses after 
a stray dog, holding out a dirty 
hand for some pennies, making 
ugly faces, or doing any 
sort of a prank you can 
think of; — boys who have 
no home, but sleep 
in boxes, alley-ways, 
wagons, or any hole 
they can creep into, 
and many of whom 
can be made to go to 
school only by the 
bribe of a good din- 

Two hundred small 
boys, off for a frolic, 
with hats of all kinds 
and sizes, and in all 
stages of shabbiness ; 
boys wearing their 
fathers' pantaloons 
cut off; boys with so 
many patches that 
the original garment 
could not be guessed 
at ; boys with men's 
coats, and boys with ' m 
no coats at all ; boys 
with clothes tied on with 
strings ; boys with pockets 
hanging outside, boys with 
pantaloons pinned on ; bare- 
footed, ragged, shock-headed, and, 
it must be confessed, not very clean- 

But they were a happy party, as 
seen by your reporter one day last -_ 

autumn. Every one of their faces 
wore a smile, and every eye was bright 
and wide-awake. You surely would have 
thought so if you had heard them shout and 
hurrah as they passed through the suburbs of 
Brooklyn, greeting each astonished cow with a 

Vol. VII.— 43. 

long-continued " Mo-0-0-0." 
Three car-loads of boys ! and 
whatever one of 
them started the 



immediately joining in, — saluting goats with a 
chorus of " Ma-a-a-as," and hens with "crows" 
and "clucks" to drive them wild, and whistling 




and calling to dogs, till the sagacious creatures 
hardly know whether to be insulted, and bark 
furiously, or to regard it as a polite attention, and 
wave their tails for thanks. 

These entertainments were varied by whistling 
the "Mulligan Guards," every boy beating time 
with his feet; and then by singing, first the street 
melodies, "Little Buttercup," "She 's a Daisy," 
"Grandfather's Clock," and others, and then fall- 
ing into the airs they learned at school, " Hold the 
Fort," "Pull for the Shore," and — greatest favorite 
of all — "Sweet By-and-by." 
Poor boys ! one could ; ,-:''' 

scarcely hear that from . • ;, : 

such lips, without 
a tear. v ■';■ ... " , . g}&; 

They are 

houses. None of them know what a comfortable 
home is like, and most of them know very well 
how it feels to be hungry and have no food. 

But to go on with the picnic. After a ride on 
street and steam cars for about an hour, the train 
stops at Bath, on the southern shore of Long 
Island, and, in about ten seconds, every boy is out 
of the cars. They form in a line, two by two, but 
they 're a regular mob for all that, as they rush on 
after the gentleman who leads, little ones falling 
down, struggling up and trudging on again, 
stopping to pick every weed that has a blos- 
som, even a tempting great purple 
thistle (which is dropped 
.-#;.. "$Mh without the cry that 

• happier children 
',:' . would give), 

■ , shouting 

boys, though 
you would not 
think it, unless you 
have seen the Mission 
Schools, which gather 
the children in, from 


at the 
growing corn, 
" scuffing" their feet as they cross the 
road, to raise a cloud of dust, and, in 
this scrambling, noisy way, reaching, 
at last, the big white gate of the 

streets and alleys of New York, and try to civilize ■ Here there is a division : a gentleman stands at 
and teach them something. They are all from the gate, and gives each boy a choice ; most of 
such homes as Maggie's, in the dreadful tenement them turn away with a shout, and run further up 





the street, while perhaps fifty go through the gate 
with an expectant, solemn air. 

What is the magic 
word that sends the 

crowd so eagerly on ? : . '. ' 

It is "swimming." ' V* ..,- ' : 

The choice is be- .;■. '.. - 

tween swimming and , s *- 

scupping, — what that _- ' 

queer but venerable . ■ : '■_- :■■,,'■; 

old Dutch word v'' '- :'.$'.'. 

means, you '11 soon 
find out ; it is a 
"survival " from New 
Amsterdam days, — if 9j£ 
you understand that. 

When the last j Ig 
swimmer has joined ei 
the yelling mob on 
the way to a secluded ';;, 
beach, and the last ■ ■' H 
scupper has disap- 
peared behind the ,^i' : 
gate, the grown-ups 
follow, and discover 
that scups are noth- 
ing more nor less 
than swings, and that about forty of 
them are now in full motion, some 
with one boy, many with two, in all 
positions possible for a human being 
to assume. 

Passing this happy crowd, one comes to 
buildings. The picturesque old cottage facing the 
sea, with wings bigger than itself, is Maggie's, and 
all other poor children's "Summer Home"; and 
in the long dining-room are now at work several 
ladies, with Mrs. Holt at their head. They are 
preparing lunch for the boys. What piles of 
water-melon, clothes-baskets full of sandwiches, — 
adapted in size to a boy's appetite, — immense cans 
of fresh milk, and rows of white mugs ! Pretty 
soon there will be a curious scene here. 

But now let us go through the house, into the 
front yard, with its pleasant seats under awnings, 
where little invalids can get the sea air without 
heat of the sun, and, best of all, its lovely sea-view, 
with gently sloping beach and stretched ropes, 
where troops of poor little girls have bathed and 
danced, and shouted. Looking up the beach, 
Coney Island appears, with its hotels, and towers, 
and flags ; and looking down, past the distant view 
of many piles of clothes on the bank, and many 
heads bobbing about in the water, the two forts 
guarding the entrance to New York harbor. 

After a while there comes a sound of voices, and 
a long procession marching toward the dining-room. 

Lunch! — for two hundred hungry street boys! 
Let us see how these experienced ladies manage it 



t ... 


without a riot. 
The dining- 
room doors 
open into the 
yard at each 
end. As the 
procession en- 
ters one door, 
it passes be- 
tween two bas- 
kets of sandwiches, with ladies to serve them. 
Each boy coming in receives the food, and at 
once passes on, through the room, to the other 
side of the house. 

There the rough street training comes out ; as 
soon as the boy gets through the door, he starts 
on a run around the house, to join the line again, 
and get another sandwich. But the managers 
know all these little tricks, and at each passage 
stands a man who orders the young "repeaters" 
back. So the hungry, happy fellows crowd to- 
gether, and have to devour their bread and meat 
peaceably in the front yard. 

No sooner is it swallowed than gates are forced 
open, or fences climbed, and before one can wink 
fifty boys' heads appear on the surface of the water 

" Here ! " shouts one. " This is n't the place to 
bathe. You must n't go in here ! " But, alas ! 
too late,- — they are in, and a good frolic they have 




for a half-hour, till the magic word " lunch" salutes 
their ears. Then, in a twinkling, rags and duds 
are huddled on, and the boys, hungrier than 
before, join the procession forming for another 
march through the dining-room. 

The next course — in lunch — is water-melon, and 
over the low half-door dozens of hungry faces have 
been hanging, with longing eyes turned toward the 
immense pans of cut melon, each piece a big semi- 
circle — cool, tempting and beautiful, with its rich 



The former scene is repeated, and now each one 
has had four slices of bread and two of meat. 
Again the "scups " have a turn, two or three boys 
in each, and the croquet balls get some hard 
knocks, the bean-bags take extraordinary flights, 
and the trees are full of clambering boys hunting 
for fruit ; another rush is made to the great salt 
bath-tub outside, and another fifty come out some- 
what cleaner, and much merrier. 

pink and green. But the word goes round, and 
the third time the eager procession comes in. 

Perhaps you think that to give two hundred 
boys each a piece of melon, two hundred pieces are 
enough, but the old hands, used to the business, 
always provide two hundred and fifty. Water- 
melon is a treat, and so sly and so ill-taught are 
these young rogues, that they will take a piece with 
the right hand, hide it behind their back, and put 




the left hand out on the other side for a second 

It is funny to stand outside and sec the boys come 
out; some with their melon already eaten, and 
ready to throw the rind, — which seems to be half 
the fun, — and others with theirs carefully hoarded 
till they can sit down. The common way of eat- 
ing is to cram it down, the quicker the better. 
They eat as if they were used to having their food 
snatched away, and perhaps they are, — poor boys. 

The last course is now announced, — peaches, 
cake and milk. Once more the long line passes 
through the room, but more slowly, for each child 
has a peach, a cake, and a mug of milk which he 
has to drink before passing on. 

Soon after this, the order is for " home," 
and the long string passes through the gate- 
way with cheers and good-bys, and is soon 
packed into the waiting cars and whirled off 
to the city again. 

This delightful charity is under the careful :& 
management of the Children's Aid Society, 
with Mr. Charles L. Brace — "the children's '"' 
Mr. Brace " — at its head. There seems to be 
no limit to his noble work in behalf of poor 
children. The Society, of which he is the founder 
and leader, has for years been turning young lives 
from poverty and even degradation, into paths of 
usefulness and happiness. All over the great 
West can be found to-day, honorable hard-working 
young men who were taken from city docks and 
streets by the Society ; and every year it sends new 

crowds of boys to 
It has its schools, 
and often clothes, 
for the scholars, 
big sister can 
baby " if 
sary, and 
for a 

ood country homes. 

where dinners, 

are provided 

and where 

ike " the 





few cents, newsboys and 
girls, and others, with small 
earnings, can get comfort- 
able meals and lodging, besides 
helpful instruction. These are 
all supported by the charity of 
kind-hearted people, and it 
could help twice as many children if it had twice 
as much money. 







By Margaret Bourne. 


A TINY vase of tangled flowers, 

Clover and daisies white, 
Stands on the table at my side : 

A very common sight. 

But to my eyes they have a grace 

Unknown to blossoms rare, 
Because I see the sunny face 

Of her who placed them there. 

I hear again the little feet, 

Bounding in childish glee; 
I hear the voice, so dear and sweet, 

Say, " Pretty flowers ! See ! " 

" And they are all for you ! " she said, 
Her face a radiant sight, 
She raised her eyes, then drooped her head, 
" I want to be polite." 

" May be you 'd be politer, too," 

She lisped with questioning gaze, 

" If you would give me back a few, 
Mamma, for my own vase." 

We shared the gift : her little hand 

Arranged these blossoms wild, 
And placed them here, where now they stand,- 

My precious little child ! 


By Noah Brooks. 

Chapter III. 


The Black family lived in one of the houses on 
stilts. There was no good reason why there 
should have been any houses on stilts in Fair- 
port. There was land enough everywhere to 
furnish room for the building of houses on the 
solid ground; yet, here, at the edge of the harbor 
and overhanging a steep bank, supported by tall, 

upright timbers, just like stilts, were built four 
houses. They were the delight of boys who were 
so unfortunate as to live in less picturesque dwell- 
ings. From the rear windows one could drop a 
fishing-line directly into the water, at high tide, 
and from these windows the tenants were accus- 
tomed to throw all the refuse and slops which less 
favorably situated people were obliged to carry out 
of doors. Then, too, from these same windows 
the boys who lived within could, at low tide, drop 




a handful of stones, or a bucket of water, on the 
head of the casual passenger beneath. Such 
advantages as these were fully appreciated by the 
boys of Fairport, every one of whom envied Sam 
Black the extraordinary facilities for fun which he 
had in one of the houses on stilts. 

In the house at the end of the row, next to the 
path which led down to the shore from the village 
street, dwelt the father and mother of Sam 

Thankful Snow, then the only colored woman in 
those parts. The fugitive slave from Brazil was 
known as Tumble Black, nobody knew why, but 
it is likely that his queer first name was a faint 
echo of his African name. In his life of slavery 
he was only known as Mumbo, a name which was 
so hateful that he dropped it as soon as he was a 
free man. The one only child of Tumble and 
Thankful Black was Sam, originally named 


Black. Nobody knew the real name of the 
paternal Black. It is not likely that he knew 
it himself. When he was a young lad, he had 
been stolen from the coast of Africa and sold 
into slavery in Brazil. Employed about the coffee 
warehouses of Rio de Janeiro, he managed to 
conceal himself on board of a Fairport brig loading 
there, and so was brought to Maine, where he 
found a wife on Plum Island, in the person of 

Samuel Peleg Black, thus bearing, as a token of 
his father's gratitude, the names of the first and 
second mates of the brig " Draco," in which craft 
Tumble made his escape from South American 

The houses on stilts were inhabited by the 
families of men who followed the sea as foremast 
hands, or who were the clam-diggers, wood- 
sawyers and wharf-keepers of the port. Tumble 

6 5 6 



Black was whitewashes wood-sawyer, and musician. 
In the Fairport Guards' Band, consisting of bass- 
drum and fife, Tumble played the fife; and very- 
well he played it, too. He likewise played a 
French horn, chiefly for his own amusement. 
And on calm and still nights, when the moon was 
at her full, people on the water, gliding up the 
harbor, sometimes rested on their oars to listen to 
the melancholy notes of Tumble's horn as they 
floated over the bay from the window where he 
usually sat and poured out his soul in plaintive 
strains. A lady from Boston once said she 
thought that he was playing a lament for the lost 
land and home of his youth on Afric's coral strand. 

Old Tumble was a prime favorite with the 
boys. He not only knew all the things about the 
sea, and shore, and the woods, which a boy 
admires in anybody, but he was full of strange and 
mysterious information about charms and witch- 
craft. It was said and believed that he could 
charm a bird from off a tree by a wild and peculiar 
whistle which he produced by making a sort of 
pipe of his thick lips. And it was notorious that 
he could bring the fish out of the sea by a motion 
of his hand. If this was not so, how else could 
any one account for his wonderful luck in fishing at 
times when nobody but he could catch anything? 
When the fishermen of the port came in, empty- 
handed and discouraged, old Tumble would put 
out in the bay for a little while, alone, and come 
back in the nightfall with a great haul of cod, 
haddock and hake. The fishermen shook their 
heads, and, glancing up at the house on stilts, 
would say that it " war n't for no good that old 
Tumble-bug has been singing to himself out on 
the bay, after dark. " 

The old man was full of story and anecdote 
about his youthful life in Africa. He lived, he 
said, near a great river which was called Quorra, 
and when some of the boys looked into the map 
of Africa and found that this was the native 
name of the Niger, they felt as if they had dis- 
covered the river for themselves. Old Tumble, 
also, delighted his small hearers with scraps of the 
dialect which was his native language. He had 
well-nigh forgotten the words which he had used 
when he was a youngster in his own land, so over- 
laid were they with Spanish, Portuguese and 
English; but the boys of Fairport were delighted 
to talk enough Congo to mystify the older people. 

To ask for bread as " bomba, " and for water 
as " slee, " or to say that they were " gaigai " 
when they were hungry, was very great fun for 
these young linguists. Sam, it should be added, 
did not seem to take kindly to these little reminis- 
cences of his father's past life. His own language 
was as pure as that of any of his playfellows, who, 

I am sorry to say, used more slang than Sam did. 
But, as has been intimated, Sam had all of his 
father's knowledge of the secrets of the sea and 
the wilderness. He was never thought to be able 
to charm the fish or the birds, but he was on more 
friendly terms with these shy creatures than any 
other boy in Fairport. 

Old Tumble, too, had the reputation of being 
what was called "a money-digger"; not that he 
actually spent his time, or any part of it, in digging 
for money, but it was supposed that he could tell, 
if he chose, how and where to dig for buried treas- 
ure. Fairport was full of stories and traditions of 
buried pots and chests of money — the spoils of free- 
booters and buccaneers who once sailed the seas, 
and who put in to these lonely harbors to hide irt 
the earth their ill-gotten gains. It was believed by 
many people that there was a magic by which hid- 
den treasure could be found, if only one knew how 
to use the magic. There were charms, divining- 
rods, and various species of witchcraft, all more or 
less requiring the aid of necromancy, by which 
money hidden in the ground, or in the sea, could 
be discovered. It was always necessary that such 
a search should be made in the darkest of the night,, 
when no moon was shining, when the tide was out, 
and when the planets in the heavens were in a 
peculiar position as to the fixed stars. Nobody 
knew just how all these signs were to be observed,, 
but if any man did know, it was supposed that old 
Tumble was that man. He was black; he had 
been born in a land where magic, necromancy and 
the black art were understood, if anywhere. So r 
by general consent, it was agreed that if old Mr. 
Black chose to tell, he could guide anybody to hid- 
den treasures of Captain Kidd and the rest of the 
bold buccaneers who hid their money in the earth 
and never came back for it. Nobody seemed to 
think that if old Tumble, who had had a hard time 
in the world because of his poverty, could find the 
lost treasures for others, he could find them for 
himself; and yet he had never been lucky enough 
to find anything more valuable than an old copper 
plate, bearing a Latin inscription, and supposed to 
be a relic of the French Jesuit mission, established 
here in the seventeenth century, when the Sieur 
D'Aulney ruled this land under General Razillai. 

Billy Hetherington, sitting in the sunny kitchea 
of the house on stilts and looking over the bay, 
often wondered if old Tumble could really raise- 
ghosts and spirits, as the gossips said he could. 
But he never mustered up the courage to ask him, 
nor even to ask his crony, Sam, for he saw that 
such a question would not please the boy, who had. 
none of the superstitions of the ignorant 'longshore- 
men and toilers of the sea. Once, taken off his. 
guard by his strong imagination, Billy, seeing Sam's- 




father put an odd-looking frying-pan on the fire, 
asked: " Is that your storm-pan?" This was an 
unfortunate question. There was a foolish belief 
among the sailors of the bay that old Tumble had 
a pan by which he could raise a storm at any time, 

no storm-pan; at least, not that I know of, and 
they are bad and wicked people who have filled 
your head with such nonsense as that. " 

Billy felt reproved, and he was very much 
relieved when old Tumble took down his fife and 


by merely putting it on the fire; and when Billy 
asked the old man if that was the storm-pan, 
he put into words the idle superstition which had 
led many a man, when out in a gale at night, 
to complain, " Old Tumble has got on his storm- 

Black looked angrily at the boy for a moment, 
and Sam turned away his face, as if in reproach. 
But the old man's features softened in an instant, 
and he said, " No, my little gentleman, there is 

played for him an African melody, sad and wild, 
which, he explained, had been taught him by his 
mother, in their old home, years and years ago, 
and which he had not forgotten and could not 
forget. " Sometimes, when the fishermen hear 
this tune," he said, "they think that I am doing 
something to charm away the fish from the seine, 
or to bring on a spell of bad weather. If they 
knew how my poor old mother, dead and gone, I 
s'pose, these many years, learned me this tune, 

6 5 8 



they would laugh at themselves because they are 
so foolish." 

Emboldened by the old man's burst of confi- 
dence, Billy had the courage to say " And they do 
say, Mr. Black, that you know how to dig for 
buried money, and how to find a spring of water 
that is hid in the ground." 

"All nonsense, child, all nonsense. Nobody 
knows where to dig for hidden treasure, unless he 
has been told where it is. Anybody can dig if he 
knows wlierc to dig." 

"And can't you find springs of water? My 
father said you can." 

"Yes, child, I can find a spring of water, pro- 
viding the dew is off the grass, and it is airly 
morning, and my divining-rod is in tune." And 
here the old man took down a green wand of 
witch-hazel, forked at one end. Holding it with 
one prong in each hand, he added, " And when I 
walk over the ground, holding this upright, so, I 
can see it bend down whenever I pass over a spring 
hid in the ground. But the dew must be off of 
the grass, and the sun be up, but not up too high." 

Sam was a little impatient at this, and he signed 
to Billy to go out with him on the beach below. 

"That is mighty curious, Sam, is'nt it?" said 
Billy, as he skipped a stone across the waves. " I 
wish I had a divining-rod, I would find a spring 
nearer our camp in the fort pasture. O ! say, Sam," 
he exclaimed, a bright idea striking him, " suppose 
you get your father to go down back of the fort, 
some day, when the dew is off the grass, and the 
sun is not too high, and have him find a spring 
for us ; it is so far to go for water to the gully 
from the camp, every time we go a-Maying." 

Sam dug his bare black toe thoughtfully in the 
sand before he replied. 

"Well, you see, Billy, I don't think that your 
mother would like to have any such doings, for 
she is awful particular, you know, about 'stitions 
and things. Don't you remember how mad she 
was at you and me for listening to old Ma'am 
Heath 's stuff about digging for money in the full 
of the moon, down behind the block-house ? " 

This was a sore point with Billy, for he had been 
seriously reasoned with by his mother when he had 
come home, full of a new project for money-dig- 
ging, in which he and Sam were to be aided by 
Vene Snowman, a step-son of Ma'am Heath, the 
village seeress. They were to find a toad with 
seven warts on his back, a field-sparrow with seven 
white feathers in his tail, and procure a crooked 
four-pence-ha'penny, and seven tallow candles, 
and several other things, and Vene, whose full 
name was Sylvanus, was to be prompted by his 
step-mother with all the information needed to 
find where Captain de la Tour hid his money 

behind the block-house hill, when he was driven 
away from Acadia and never came back again. It 
was darkly whispered that the old Captain did 
come back on stormy nights, in the time of the 
spring tides, when the storm winds blew shrilly 
over the peninsula, and when the night sky was 
full of wild-driving clouds. At such times, it was 
said, the old Captain might be seen by anybody 
who was brave enough to be out in such a night, 
walking among the spruce-trees behind the block- 
house hill, muttering to himself, "Where did I 
put it? Where did I put it?" 

But, as nobody ever was brave enough to go out 
to the lonely spruce-covered hill, on such a wild 
night as I have described, nobody ever did see the 
ghostly captain. Neither did anybody ever hunt 
in earnest for the treasure which he was supposed 
to have buried there. 

The expedition of Vene Snowman, Billy and 
Sam failed, because of an interdict put on it by 
Mrs. Hetherington. And when Sam's mother 
caught him hiding three tallow candles under his 
jacket (these being his contribution to the money- 
digging outfit), and made him confess what he was 
about, she took him by the ear and led him into 
the little bedroom overlooking the bay, and told 
him that he should not stir a step out of the house 
until it was time for him to go to the pasture after 
Judge Nelson's cow. And, a prisoner there all the 
bright afternoon, he was tantalized by the sight of 
Billy on the beach below, wondering why Sam, 
looking out of the window, frantically motioned him 
to go away, but would give no answer to his oft- 
repeated whistle-call. And all this was reason 
enough why both boys should remember that there 
was somebody who did not approve of their having 
anything whatever to do with incantations and other 
such nonsense. 

Nevertheless, Billy secretly resolved that he 
would find some of Captain Kidd's money when he 
grew up, if it was anywhere buried on the Fairport 

Chapter IV. 


Mrs. Hetherington was a tall and stately 
lady, of whom all the boys of Fairport stood in 
great awe. She never told Billy to put wood on 
the fire, but said: "William, you may replenish 
the fire." Nor was she ever known to refer to 
Billy's uncle, old Reuben Stover, who lived "off 
the Neck," as a rich farmer. To her, at least, he 
was " an opulent agriculturist." And the intimacy 
which existed between Billy and Sam Black was, 
according to her, " a distressing social complication 
with a young person of color." If Mrs. Hether- 




ington had not been famed through all the region 
around Fairport for her kindness to the poor, her 
unfailing charity to the sick and the distressed, and 
for her truly wonderful doughnuts, made by her 
own white and aristocratic hands, these peculiarities 
would have been insufferable. But no man nor 
woman who knew — as everybody did — of her great 
goodness, could think twice of her exceeding fastid- 
iousness. And no boy who once tasted of those 
admirable doughnuts, which were given with a 
liberal hand, could be brought to think that the 
lady who made them, and gave them away, was 
anything but a perfect woman. Sam Perkins was 
wont to say, with a certain appearance of shame- 
facedness, " Those are better doughnuts than my 
mother makes, but then, my mother makes the 
best cup-cakes of anybody in the world." This was 
a great tribute to the genius of Mrs. Hetherington. 

The Hetherington house stood on the hill 
crowned by the old fort. One of the Hetherington 
ancestors, in the Revolutionary war, had been a 
general, and he had been brought back here by the 
British, to his own town, while they held possession 
of it, and had been imprisoned in the. barracks in 
the fort. The story of his escape and flight across 
the country to the Penobscot river, accompanied by 
Captain Wadsworth, an ancestor of one of the 
greatest of American poets, may be read in the 
chronicles of Fairport. The home of Billy Hether- 
ington was embellished with many curious relics of 
those old days. There were the silver-mounted 
pistols, brought from France, which the Revolu- 
tionary hero carried in the holsters of his saddle, 
and there hung over the mantel-piece the identical 
sword which General Knox, Washington's trusty 
lieutenant, gave General Hetherington, with the 
remark that no braver man than he ever drew 
sword in defense of his country's liberties. And in 
a big mahogany press upstairs, an heirloom in the 
family, hung the blue coat faced with buff, and the 
buff knee-breeches, which the great man wore for 
his uniform when he was at the head of his troops. 
The boys of Fairport, admitted to the Judge's 
library when that awful personage was absent, and 
Billy had the courage to pilot them in, gazed with 
awe and admiration on a portrait of Brigadier- 
General Hetherington, atremendous person, indeed, 
clad in full uniform, wearing a haughty look and a 
long queue, or pigtail, tied with a bow of black 
ribbon. It was said that the Hetherington family 
burned incense before this work of art, night and 
morning, but I do not believe this ; and it is certain 
that the old hero stared at the opposite wall with a 
fixed and stony gaze, entirely unmindful of the 
admiration of the boys and of the Hetherington 

In the days of which I am writing, slavery still 

existed in a portion of the United States, and it 
had not been long since some of the people who 
then lived in Maine could say that they had seen 
people who had owned slaves in New England. 
And there were dark hints that some of the ances- 
tors of Mrs. Hetherington, whose name was Stover, 
had made a great deal of money by bringing slaves 
from the coast of Africa to Oldport, Rhode Island, 
where they were landed secretly, years and years 
ago, when slave-trading and smuggling were 
regarded with so much abhorrence that nobody 
liked to be caught at it. In the library of the 
Hetherington mansion was a small collection of 
queer things from the coast of Africa, a stuffed 
parrot, a shield of wire-grass, a knobby club of 
iron-wood, and a frightful-looking spear. These, 
ranged against the north wall of the room, like a 
trophy of arms, were supposed by some to have 
been part of the spoil of the African captives 
brought from their native land by that wicked and 
remote ancestor of Billy Hetherington, known as 
" the Black Stover." 

None of the Stover family before Mrs. Hether- 
ington had ever lived in the house on the hill. 
They had lived in an old and tall house on Main 
street, and a straightening of the street, years ago, 
had so changed the location of that house that it 
was no longer used as a place of residence by any- 
body. Once, in the more prosperous times of 
Fairport, a portion of the Stover house had been 
occupied as a carpenter's shop. But the carpenter 
was dead and gone, the windows of his shop were 
boarded up, and timid children, looking in through 
the chinks of the boarding, saw, or thought they 
saw, strange shapes and monstrous things within, 
partly revealed by the few straggling rays of sun- 
light that found their way inside. And at night, 
only the bravest of the small boys of Fairport 
dared to pass on the side of the street where the 
old Stover house stood. There were stories that 
" Black Stover" had buried money in the cellar of 
the old house, and that, on certain nights in the 
year, at the time when the nights were the longest 
and the days were the shortest and coldest, the 
ghost of " Black Stover" used to come and try to 
find where his ill-gotten wealth was buried. This 
fable delighted and horrified the smaller children 
very much, and they 'were never tired of hearing 
about the shade of the wild sea-rover and of his 
vain attempts to find his hidden treasure. 

But, though some of the tragic romance of 
" Black Stover" was found about the Hetherington 
house on the hill, there was a look about the man- 
sion which was so wholesome and hearty that 
nobody could long remember the idle stories of the 
gossips when the real comfort of the Hetherington 
place was in view. The tall Lombard;,' poplars, 




that stood like sentries in front of the house, the 
trim flower-garden inside the palings, bright with 
hollyhocks, marigolds and china asters, and the 
long rows of red and black currant bushes that 
stretched in the rear of the mansion, and the lilacs 
and seringas that were clumped together before 
the front windows, were not at all suggestive of 
anything so uncanny as the uneasy ghost of a dead 
and gone slave-trader. It was a fine old home, 
and we may well wonder why Mrs. Hetherington 
should be afraid that her son Billy should like any- 
other place so much better as to be willing to live 
elsewhere. But it did really seem as if she thought 
that Billy would, some day, go off into the wide, 
wide world with Sam, the colored fielder of the 
Fairport Nine. It seemed strange that the poor 
mother should worry so about her boy ; but if 
Blackie had been a rapscallion, instead of the 
bright and well-behaved youngster he was, Billy's 
mother could not have been more troubled about 
her son's intimacy with the only black boy in the 

"Why. mother," Billy would say, " I don't see 
why you object to my playing with Blackie. 
Everybody says that he is the best of all the boys 
in town, and the schoolmaster, only the other 
day, said that he was facile princcps in the school- 
room, and in the woods and fields. I don't know 
what facile princcps means, but I know it must be 
something good, for Old Potter thinks Blackie is a 
bully boy, I am sure. He 's always praising him 
up to the rest of us fellows." 

"My son! my son! what slang! Have I not 
frequently told you that these low associations 
would so debase your character and conversation 
that your family would be ashamed of you." 

Mrs. Hetherington did not object to Billy's play- 
ing with poor Sam, but she did object to his being 
so much with the black boy. And so when Billy 
went out into the back-yard, murmuring to himself, 
and puzzled as to the reason of his mother's aver- 
sion to Sam, who was the most entertaining boy in 
the whole place, to say nothing of the Fairport 
Nine, he was a little glad to see the object of his 
thoughts sitting on the fence which skirted the 
Hetherington place next to the fort pasture. 

" What 's up, Sam ? " asked Billy. 

" I am," answered Blackie, sententiously. 
" Leastways, I am up on this fence, and two or 
three of the boys are coming up to see us try the 
walk on the ceiling." 

The boys had been to a circus, lately shown in 
North Fairport, and one of the attractions of the 
performance had been the feat of " Professor 
Rinaldo Rinaldini, the human fly." This wonder- 
ful man had contrived some apparatus by which 
he had actually walked on the under side of a 

plank flooring, head downward, like an enormous 
two-legged fly, as Sam Perkins had remarked. 
While the boys had been talking over this and 
other admirable things which they had seen, 
Blackie had kept up a deep thinking, and now 
that the great base-ball match was over, he 
announced that he was ready to do the feat "as 
good as the Professor." 

Jo Murch and Sam Perkins soon scaled the 
fence, and the four boys found " the Lob " in the 
barn waiting for the arrival of the performers. 
The mow was selected as the scene of operations. 
I suppose all country boys know that the mow of a 
real barn is the part of the barn which is fenced 
off, as it were, from the rest by a deep screen, 
or fence, or plank, nearly as high as the eaves of 
the building. The upper part of this screen is 
open, but the lower part is solid boarding or 
planking. The mow, or, as some call it, the bay, 
is filled with hay away up to the eaves, when the 
hay crop is gathered in the fall. In the summer, 
however, the mow is only partly full of hay, and it 
is great sport to jump from the beams which cross 
it, high in the roof, to the soft and fragrant hay 
beneath. In the great barn of the Hetherington 
place, it was a tremendous leap from the upper 
beams to the top of the now half-filled hay-mow. 
But Sam was equal to this, and Billy was never far 
behind him. 

On this occasion, however, leaping was not in 
order. The game was higher. Professor Rinaldo 
Rinaldini was to be imitated. Sam Black had 
gathered all the martingale rings that he could 
find, and selecting two of the stoutest of these, 
he fixed them on the bottom of his bare feet, as 
he would have fastened his skates, and he used 
his skate-straps for this purpose. Buckling them 
tight, he had a ring on the bottom of each foot, 
strong enough to hold up a boy of twice his 
weight; and Sam was not a very light boy, either. 
Meantime, the other boys, under his direction, 
had nailed along the under side of one of the 
beams that crossed the hay-mow, high up in the 
roof, several hooks, once used to drive into the 
window-frames of the Stover house, to support the 
blinds of that mansion, but now drawn out by the 
ingenious Sam. These, driven about a foot apart 
on the under side of the beam, were to hold Sam 
on his voyage across, in his character as Professor 
Rinaldo Rinaldini, the human fly. 

Sam Perkins, being the captain of the Nine, was 
not able to see this performance proceed without 
his direction, so, as ring-master, he superintended 
the driving of the hooks, and, having examined 
the rings and skate-straps on Blackie's feet, to see 
that they were all right and tight, he gave the 
word of command : 


66 1 

'' Now, then, Professor Blinaldo Blinaldinio, you 
■will please mount the fiery and untamed hay- 

" Get me a couple of halters first," said Blackie. 
The halters were brought, and Blackie, neatly 
splicing them together, climbed up to the topmost 
beam, and his halters were thrown up after him. 
Then, placing the rope over the beam, he tied the 
loose ends underneath, thus making what the 
sailors call "the bight of the rope" below the 
beam. Next, he slid cautiously down the rope, 
and, throwing up his feet, he caught the ring on 
his right foot into the first of the row of hooks. 
Then he slipped the other ring into the next hook, 
let go of the rope, and was off on his walk across 
the beam, head downward and feet in the air, pre- 
cisely like Professor Rinaldo Rinaldini, the human 
fly. The boys in the mow below felt their hearts 
go up into their throats as they watched Sam 
painfully move on from hook to hook. 

"What if a hook should pull out?" asked Billy, 
with a sinking of the heart. He had not thought 
it half so dangerous a feat until now, when he saw 
his black crony hanging high in the air from those 
rusty blind-hooks. 

" Never you fear that," said Sam Perkins, 
stoutly, but with a little quaver in his voice; "I 
drove those hooks in, and I guess I know a thing or 
two about driving things, 'specially when a fellow 
is going to walk on them." 

" Hold on for dear life, professor of the human 
fly !" shouted Jo Murch, unpleasantly, for he did 
not like to see anybody do anything which he had 
not himself done first. But Sam did not need 
warning. He was now half-way across the dizzy 
height, as it seemed to the boys, unused to any 
very high places. At that point, a hitch occurred, 
one of the hooks being so much bent that it held 
the ring firmly. The boys all shouted out their 
advice at once, and Nance Grindle, hearing the 
racket, came in through the cow-stable, and, 

unperceived by the excited boys, gazed scornfully at 
their antics. She was about to give her advice, 
too, when Blackie disengaged his foot and passed 
on his perilous journey. Slowly he worked his way 
across, and in a few minutes more he was on the 
other side, his left foot in the last hook at the end 
of the beam, and his face against that side of the 
barn. Here a new difficulty arose. Sam could not 
get down ! The rope was at the farther end of the 
beam. His feet could not be taken from the 
hooks without letting him fall head foremost on the 
hay, and that would certainly break his neck. 
Sam Perkins, without knowing why, climbed the 
joists leading up to the roof, like a cat, and there 
Blackie hung helplessly in the air, unable to stir. 
To let go with his feet was almost sure death, and to 
stay longer, after such a hard feat, was impossible. 

Then Nance Grindle, bouncing out of the stall 
where she had been hidden, cried out : 

"You, Sam Perkins! Get up there and carry 
Sam Black that rope on the other end of the beam ! 
Don't you know anything scarcely?" 

Sam was already on the beam, and, without a 
word', he took the rope, slid it along the beam to 
Sam, who, grasping it with both hands, held him- 
self firmly for an instant, then, pulling himself 
upward, loosened his feet from the rings and, turn- 
ing a somersault, dropped safely, feet first, into the 
hay-mow below. 

"That's the luckiest escape I ever saw," said 
Captain Sam, from the beam. 

" Yes, and you had to have a gal tell you how 
to get out of it," said Nancy, contemptuously, as 
she flung out of the barn, half-provoked with her- 
self for having been the means of getting Blackie 
out of a bad predicament. 

" Ever so much obliged to you, Nance ! " cried 
Blackie, as the girl flew off. 

" No matter about anything," she replied, with- 
out looking back. Then the boys sat down on the 
hay and talked it all over. 

(To be coJitimted.) 






A number of Molbos once sat down on the 
ground in a circle, but when they wanted to get up 
again, their legs were so intermingled that no one 
could make out which were his. They remained, 
therefore, sitting quietly, fully convinced that they 
could never get up again. A traveler passing by, 
they called him and asked him to tell them how 
each man might find his own legs again. The 
man first showed each one where his feet were, 
and wanted him to draw up the legs and get up ; 
but as this only increased their confusion, he thought 
of another remedy. He took his stick and struck 
first one man smartly over his legs, then another, 

succeeded in getting it down from the belfry ; but 
it was still harder to determine how and where it 
should be hid away, so that the enemy should not 
find it. At last, they agreed to sink it in the deep 
ocean. They therefore dragged the bell down to 
their big boat, rowed far out on the ocean, and 
threw the bell overboard. After it had disappeared, 
the good Molbos began to reflect, and said to each 
other : " The bell is now truly safe from the enemy, 
but how are we to find it again when the enemy 
has left us?" One of them, who thought himself 
wiser than the rest, sprang up and cried: "That 
is easy enough ; all we have to do is to cut a mark 
where we dropped it! " He snatched a knife from 

then a third, and so on. As soon as each man felt 
the stroke, he became aware of which were his 
legs, and moved them quickly out from the heap. 


The Molbos were once greatly scared by a report 
that the enemy intended to invade their country, 
and they determined to save what they could from 
falling into the hands of the invaders. What they 
prized most, and would save first of all, was their 
church bell. After a great deal of trouble, they 

* See St. Nicholas for 

his pocket and cut a deep notch in that side of the 
boat where the bell had been thrown overboard, 
and said: "It was here we threw it out!" This 
done, they rowed back, fully assured they would be 
able to find the bell again by the mark. 


Walking along the road, the Molbos found a 

watch, lost by some traveler. They took it up and 

looked at it with the greatest surprise, as none of 

them had ever seen such a queer thing. But sud- 

December, T879, page 180. 



06 3 

denly one of the party 
noticed that a ticking sound 
came from the inside of the 
watch. He no sooner heard 
it than he said that it must 
be possessed by the Evil 
Spirit, and, very much 
frightened, he threw the 
watch away. No one else 
dared touch it. But the 
oldest among them, more 
plucky than the rest, bent 
down and picked up a large 
piece of rock and hammered 
away at the watch until it 
was entirely smashed, and 
of course stopped beating. 
Having performed this great 
feat, the man kneeled down, 
laid his ear to the watch to 
listen if it ticked any more. 
Hearing nothing, he proudly 
said to the others: "Do 
you see, — did n't I teach 
him to keep quiet ?" Then 
they all rejoiced that they 
had destroyed this enemy, 
and went away, leaving the 
watch on the ground. 

-7," :;"<.:'.- -rfV.'A ftp**. 




By Mrs. R. Swain Gifford. 


In the autumn, when the birds are migrating, 
we often see flocks of wild ducks swimming past 
our cottage, and there is one kind that we call 
the musical duck, on account of a strange, wild call 
that it has. It is like a fragment of a song, and if 
you can strike these notes 
upon the piano-forte, 
you can know just how 
the little tune sounds : 

The fisher-boys say that the words are, " He got 
no gun." This is repeated over and over again, 
especially if they catch sight of a man who might 
have had a gun ; and as we watch the little creatures 
we can see them shaking their heads and hurrying 
up to each other with the good news that really 

" He got no gun." 
When they do see 
a gun, they dive 
under water before 
you can wink. No one ever sees them go, — you 
only see the place where they were a minute 

before. Then what fun it is to watch the water 
until they bob their heads out again ! 

The name given them by the people living 
"along shore" is Old Squaw, and you must be 
sure to pronounce it with the accent on the Old 
and not on the Squaw, as if there might be plenty 
of young squaws, perhaps, but very different 
creatures from these ducks. 

They are very shy birds, never coming near our 
cottage until the noisy boys and girls, who have 
played in the sand all summer long, have gone 
away from the sea-shore, and are safely shut up in 

Their color is yellow, brown, black and white, 
and thin white feathers hang over their black wings, 
giving a very peculiar effect, as if the white plumes 
were made of silver. 

They sleep on the sand, with their heads tucked 
under their wings, looking like balls of down ; and, 
when disturbed, hurry off to the sea, making the 
sand fly in their efforts to escape. 



66 5 

By Elizabeth VV. Denison. 

Of course, Bunny was a rabbit. I don't know 
why it is, but they never call cats or dogs Bunny, 
do they ? 

Yes, he was a rabbit, and just as white as he 
could be all over, except his eyes and the linings 
of his ears. They were pink. 

But he was wild, and never would be caught 
nor held. Once, I remember, I was feeding him 
with some little birch twigs. He liked them better 
than anything else, and would come close up to 
get them. Well, he was nibbling away as fast as 
he could, and I thought it would be a good time to 
tame him. So I put my hand on his back, and 
patted him very softly. 

The bad little thing ! He turned right around 
with his back to me, — which was n't very polite, 
you know, — and hopped off across the garden with 
his long ears flapping. He did n't stop at all till 
he was out of sight in the bushes by the brook. 
But I think we liked him all the better, because he 
would n't be held like the cats. For when he 
•wotild let us come near, it seemed such a favor ! 
And we could have the cats all the time, for there 
were six of them. 

But this is n't a cat story. It 's a rabbit story, 
and, oh yes ! — a dog story, too. 

For there was a dog, — a little, shiny, black fel- 
low, named Trip. His real name was Triptole- 
mus ; but we never called him that, unless we were 
angry with him. 

There was a little red table in one corner of the 
kitchen, and whenever we said in a loud, rebuking 
tone : " Triptolemus, — little table ! " he would put 
his tail between his legs, and hang down his head, 
and crawl under that table to the very farthest 

And then, if we said "Good doggie, Trip," out 
he would come, wagging his tail, and jumping up 
on everybody. But that has n't anything to do 
with the story ; only, I wanted you to know that 
Trip was really a nice dog. My brother, Ned, 
used to call him a mongrel, and a cur of low 
degree, whatever those are. But we children 
thought he was just as good as if he had been a 
great greyhound, or a Newfoundland dog, or a 
fierce little terrier, always snapping at people. 

No, Trip was a dear dog, and never did anything 
bad but once in his life. And, O dear me ! that 's 
what my story is about. 

Trip liked to be petted, and he always would 
growl when he saw us trying to coax Bunny with a 

VOL. VII.— 44. 

bunch of twigs. He would look at us with such 
funny bright eyes, as if he wanted to say: " What 
do you bother with that dreadful rabbit for, when 
here I am, so black and handsome, and ready to 
do anything for you ? " Sometimes he would run 
after Bunny, and chase him till the rabbit got into 
some little hole or corner where he could n't be 

Well, we children went away over to Grandpa's 
and spent a week. We had such a splendid time 
that, when Father came for us, we did n't want to 
go home. There were ever so many more things 
we were going to do. I had just got on Gran'ma's 
big apron ; it was tied around my neck, and came 
clear down to my feet. But this was n't all. 
I was standing on a box by the kitchen table, 
rolling out a great piece of dough. And it was 
going to be cookies ! There were two cunning 
little cutters, a heart and a star, and Gran'ma said 
Susy and I might have all the cookies to carry 
home. As for Sue, I don't believe you can imag- 
ine what she was doing. She was at the other 
end of the table, and had on a towel for an apron. 
She was picking over raisins, and putting them in 
a china bowl. Gran'ma told her to save out every 
tenth one for us to eat when we got through our 
work. The rest of them were going into a pudding 
for dinner. 

Of course, we could n't talk much ; for Sue had 
to count, and I was trying to get my sheet of dough 
even, so that I could cut out the dear little hearts 
and stars. But Sue did n't know how nice she 
looked. I am going to say that, if she is my sister. 

She was bending down over the raisins till her 
curls almost touched the dish, and her cheeks were 
like two red apples. 

Her mouth was open a little, and she had a 
funny way of putting out her tongue, the least bit, 
when she was busy about anything. Once in a 
while she looked up at me, and then we both 
laughed. All at once a wagon drove into the yard. 
I ran to the door, with my hands and face all 
floury. They always laughed at me for getting 
flour on my face, but somehow I could n't help it. 
Well, I ran to the door, and there was Father ! 

In a minute Sue came out with her great towel 
on, and Father took her up in his arms. I am four 
years older than Sue, and, of course, it would be 
perfectly ridiculous for Father to take me in his 
arms. But I know he loves me just as well, and 
sometimes he does hold me. 




Well, Father had come for us, and he could n't 
wait. So Gran'ma put some raisins in a paper bag, 
and promised to send the cookies by Uncle Jim. 

And I put on my things, and Father put on Sue's, 
and in about a minute we were in the wagon. I 
climbed in myself first, and oh ! how they did laugh 
at me ! 

For I was in such a hurry that I forgot to wash 
my hands or take off my big apron. I put my sack 
right on over it, and there the old thing was, 
tangled at my feet, when I tried to climb over the 

home. And as soon as he got there he ran into 
the kitchen, and crawled under his little red table. 

We wondered what made him behave so, but 
there were so many other things to see, and we 
were so glad to get home, that we forgot all about 
him presently. There was Mother, and brother 
Ned, and dear little lame brother Robbie. 

He 's so patient and good, I ought to have told 
you about him before, but I could n't. 

Then out we scampered into the barn and garden. 
Oh ! how those specks of piggies had grown. The 


wheel. And when I had put on my sun-bonnet, I 
had pushed my hair out of my eyes with my 
floury hands. 

As soon as we drove out of the yard, Father 
looked around and said: '"Why, where is Trip? 
He came with me." Then we all looked back, but 
couldn't see him. I called, "Good doggie, 
Trip," and then I thought I heard a little noise 
under the wagon. 

1 bent down so that I nearly tumbled over, to see 
what it was. And, if you '11 believe it. Trip was 
there. He would n't come out at all, but kept 
under the wagon as much as he could all the way 

cats were all around in different places, anu did n't 
seem to care much about us, and Bunny — well, 
where icas Bunny? 

Sue and I called him and called him, till we began 
to be afraid we never could say anything else. And 
so I began to call Susy, and Susy began to call me, 
for fear. But still we looked for Bunny, and went 
down to the brook, by the birch-tree, and got the 
nicest twigs and fresh leaves we could find. 

We laid some of them all about in the barn, 
hoping he would smell them and come out from 

Then they called us to dinner, but we could n't 




cat much, and I kept asking Mother if she did n't 
suppose Bunny had come by this lime. 

" Come? No," said brother Ned ; " nobody has 
seen him since day before yesterday." 

" Oh, dear ! " Susy and I took hold of hands, and 
went and sat down on the barn-floor and cried. 
Something dreadful had happened to him, and the 
worst of it was that we did n't know what. And 
there we had been having such a good time at 
Grandpa's, just as if we did n't care at all. 

I could n't bear to see the birch twigs lying there, 
and we picked them all up as fast as we could, and 
threw them into the pig-pen. 

For what was the use ! 

We went into the house, and sat down by Rob- 
bie's big chair. Everybody always did when they 
were sorry and felt badly. And Robbie began to 
show us some chairs and a table that he had been 
making for our big dollies, and we all got to talk- 
ing, and the afternoon did n't seem so very long 
after all. 

When supper was over, Father said he was going 
up on the hill to see about some sheep, and told 
Sue and me to put on our bonnets and come with 
him. We always liked to go with Father, and that 
walk to the hill was the best of all, for there were 
so many things to see. 

There was a path near the edge of a very high 
bank that went down to the river. The earth and 
stones were always shelving off and falling down 
like avalanches. Once Father took fast hold of my 
hand, and let me push off some stones with my 
foot. But he said we never must go near the edge 
when he was n't there. And we could look away 
down and see brother Ned's island covered with 
grape-vines, and the school-house, and lots of 

Pretty soon we began to hear the sheep baa-ing, 
and when they saw Father they baa-ed louder than 
ever. They made such a noise that Susy and I 
thought we would go on farther. For I heard a 
lady tell Mother once that when people were in 
trouble, they liked to be quiet. And if we weren't 
in trouble I don't know who ever was. There was a 
great field next to the sheep that had been plowed 
before we went away. 1 should have liked nothing 
better than to walk on the little hills and valleys, 

and see what strange new kinds of bugs and things 
had been uncovered by the plow. 

But I was taking care of Susy, and I knew Mother 
would n't like to have her there. So we stood at 
the bars looking in at the field. 

" What is that white thing, away off in the corner, 
that looks like a piece of paper ? " said Susy. I saw 
it, too, but I thought it looked more like a feather 
than a piece of paper. 

Father was just coming from the sheep, and he 
said he would go and see. We watched him as he 
went with great long steps over the field. Then 
we saw him stoop down a minute, and then he 
began to laugh. 

Oh, dear ! he 's the best Father that ever was, but 
I don't know what he laughed for. He scratched 
the earth away, and then held up something big 
and white. 

"Oh," whispered Sue, putting her little hands 
together, "Bunny/" 

I forgot all about Sue and Mother and everything. 
I climbed over that stone wall and was across the 
field in a jiffy. 

Poor Bunny ! He was n't very clean, of course, — 
nobody could be with dirt all over them that way. 
But I did n't care. 

1 took him right in my arms and carried him 
home. I felt all the way as if it was wrong for me to 
hold him, for I knew how he never would be held 
when he was alive. And going down the hill Father 
said that Trip, — just think of it, our Trip ! — must 
have killed him and put him there. 

If you could have seen Trip you would have 
thought so, too. 

He stayed under his little table, with his nose 
in the corner, nearly all the time. And he looked 
dreadfully ashamed. 

It was some comfort to have Bunny in a pretty 
grave, right in the middle of a flower-bed. I think 
he liked violets and honeysuckles. 

There was a clean new shingle with his name on 
it, that Robbie painted, at one end, and a white 
stone that I found in the brook, at the other. 

All that brother Ned did to help me in my 
trouble was to ask, " Why don't you have a muff 
made of his fur? " 

A muff, indeed! 





By Alice Wood. 

Here they are in this old, low book-case, 
opposite the broad, sunny window — our books. 

I do not mean the family books, — poetry, history, 
novels, — ranged upon the shelves down stairs, 
though many of them are my true friends now and 
will be my true friends always. I am speaking of 
those which were called, years ago, "The Chil- 
dren's Books," and which I love to-day because I 
loved them then. Our books — for on many a 
merry Christmas they came to all of us, to Jeanie, 
Kate and me. 

Let us see whether any of your friends and mine 
are the same. 

Poor old Robinson Crusoe ! I went through much 
sorrow for him. dt was very safe and bright in our 
parlor, and I, a wee girl, sat close by Mother's knee, 
and listened, with breathless interest, while Kate 
read his story aloud ; but afterward, when I lay in 
my bed, in the dark, how my heart ached for 
him ! 

My dear Swiss Family Robinson ! You, in your old 
worn cover, call up only pleasant memories. Many 
an anxious thought you gave me, but never a throb 
of pain. My days on that island were all happy 
ones, and Fritz, and Jack and Ernest could hardly 
have felt more interest than I in Tent House and 
Falcon's Nest. 

Here is Rosamond. — kind, good friend! — and 
"Sunbeam Stories," with the real heart's sunshine 
in them. 

How I used to delight in these "Wonderful 
Tales " ! Sometimes when I see a pale flower fad- 
ing, or one looking as though it had an exquisite 
secret hidden away in its rosy cup, or, in summer 

twilight, when a toad goes bopping by in his even- 
ing walk, I wish for Hans Christian Andersen to 
tell me their story. "The Nightingale," "The 
Ugly Duck," " The Little Mermaid " — they haunt 
my memory like strains of lovely music. 

My beautiful, loving Undine, and poor, sad Sin- 
tram ! Only just now when the red light 
shone upon my wall, I thought of the Pilgrim's 

But we shall not have time to speak of all, though 
there arc many that we might talk over; so let us 
only take a few which I used to love the best. 
This book bears on its blank leaf : "Alice; from 
Father." Dear Father, you little knew what you 
were bringing to your daughter, on that evening 
long ago, when you brought home " Ministering 
Children " from town. You brought me happy 
hours among the green English fields and in the 
cottages of the villagers, for it was like living in the 
beautiful quiet country with little Rose and Mercy ; 
pleasant times at the Farm with Farmer Smith's 
family, sympathy in their troubles, and gladness on 
that glad day when William rode Black Beauty 
home. More than all, you brought me love for 
Herbert Clifford and his sister. When, in the 
still summer night, death came to the sweet young 
lady at the Hall, I felt as though my best friend, 
too, were gone. I mourned with the villagers ; my 
heart was very sore for Herbert. I did earnestly 
resolve that I would be a better girl, that I, too, 
would try and be a ministering child. If I failed 
sadly, the fault was in me, not in the pure, sweet 
book. I would have others read it, and do better. 

Do you not love "The Wide, Wide World"? 



1 think some of the best influences of my life were 
breathed forth from those two faded green volumes. 
1 wonder if you followed Ellen Montgomery through 
her trials and pleasures with the intense interest 
that I felt. My life had more sorrow than rejoicing 
when I was with her; but the happy times were so 
very happy, and 1 was content only to be with her, 
and Alice and John. Oh ! did not Aunt Fortune 
make your blood boil many times, and did you not 
always feel a sense of glad release when, in the 
bright afternoon, the work was at last finished, and 
Ellen free to speed up the mountain-path to Alice? 
Do you remember the visit to Mrs. Vawse, the 
walk home through the snow-storm, and the cheer- 
ful gleam of Mr. Van Brunt's lantern? The Bee 
was as great a novelty to me as to Ellen, and 
Christmas at Ventnor seemed very pleasant ; but the 
lovely, quiet times at the Parsonage, in the sitting- 
room with the glass door — they were the happiest. 

In those old times, a story had to seem very real 
to bring the tears to my eyes, but, when the days of 
trouble came, 1 did cry with Ellen. I could not 
bear to have Alice die. The white house seemed 
very desolate without her. When the bitterness of 
many partings had been gone through, and Ellen 
was far away in Scotland, 1, too, was homesick 
and heart-sick to think of the moonlight streaming 
through the glass door into the empty sitting-room. 

My Ellen ! I thought I loved you truly. Why 
did I not love you well enough to follow then in 
your small footprints, copy then your gentleness 
and patience, and try to do my duty as well as you 
did yours ? 

This worn, brown book in the corner is one of 
my truest friends. I never look at it without wish- 
ing that I were braver and better. I am sure you 
love it just as well as I ; I am sure you gave Tom 
Brown your warm and ready sympathy through all 
those '• School Days," dark and bright. Through 

the perils and adventures which he and Harry East 
shared together, through the trials and victories of 
that better time, when, thanks to the Doctor and 
Arthur, " the tide turned," and Tom took the side 
of Right, up to the chapter in which, the brave and 
worthy captain of the Eleven, he plays his last 
match at Rugby. And were you not truly glad 
that he grew up such a noble fellow ? Did it not 
give you a tender and reverent admiration for 
Doctor Arnold? Did you not sincerely thank 
Thomas Hughes for writing such a book? 

Sometimes, when everything seems to be going 
wrong, and I feel tired and discouraged, if I chance 
to pass by the book-case, I stop and open the brown 
doors, and look, for a moment, at my friends stand- 
ing quietly there. I need not take down a single 
volume ; the old backs speak to me. The beauti- 
ful old days come back to me. The voices that 
whispered to me then of lovely, lofty things, breathe 
to me now encouragement and cheer : " Be strong! 
Try again to be good." And I go down stairs, 
feeling comforted. 

Dear, I want to say something to you. You 
read many books — Mrs. Whitney's, Miss Alcott's, 
and numberless others. If you would receive from 
them the good they have to give you, take the 
lessons they teach to yourself, into your own heart. 
Be good and pure, like Faith Gartney ; unselfish, 
like Leslie Goldthwaite ; true to what you know to 
be right, like the Marches. Struggle with your 
faults as bravely as Tom Brown fought his school- 
foes first and his temptations afterward. It is, it 
must be, a struggle ; but you can, if you will. 

Then, when you stand some day, as I do, before 
your old books, it will be with no sad thought of 
what might have been, if you had carried out the 
good impulses they awakened ; but gladly, grate- 
fully, saying: "They were true friends. They 
helped me to be good." 






Some boys and girls are ver-y much a-fraid of a " big dog," but there is 
not al-ways a good rea-son for this. While some big dogs are cross 
and sav-age, there are oth-er large fel-lows who are as gen-tle as any lit-tle 
dog who ev-er wag-ged a tail. And there are small dogs, such as bull-dogs, 
who are oft-en very sav-age in-deed. 

The New-found-land is one of the most com-mon of our large does. You 
know what a big, shag-gy fel-low he is, and how he likes to go in-to the 
wa-ter, and swim a-bout. 

Then there are man-y big dogs which are used for hunt-ing, such as 
hounds and set-ters and point-ers, though some of these are not ver-y large. 
Blood-hounds are a-mong the ver-y big-gest dogs. They are ver-y strong 
and sav-age, and are some-times used as watch-dogs where there are 
large yards to be guard-ed. The St. Ber-nard is an-oth-er ver-y large 
dog. You may have heard how some of them have saved the lives of 
peo-ple lost in the deep snow. 

But the big- dog which I am go-ins^ to tell a-bout is a mas-tiff, and there 
is a pict-ure of him on the oth-er page. There are not man-y mas-tiffs in 
this coun-try, and I nev-er saw but one. But in Eng-land there are a great 
man-y of them, and they are al-ways watch-dogs. 

There is no bet-ter watch-dog in the world than a mas-tiff. He is not a 
ver-y hand-some fel-low, but he is ver-y brave, and has a great deal of sense. 
A mas-tiff will oft-en take al-most as good care of a house as a man will, 
and on dark, cold nights, such a dog would be more like-ly to at-tend to 
his du-ty than most watch-men. 

I have heard of a mas-tiff who would go a-round his mas-ter's house at 
night, af-ter ev-er-y-bod-y had gone to bed, and look at all the doors and 
low-er win-dows, to see if they were shut up. If he found one o-pen, he 
would stand be-fore it and bark un-til some-bod-y came down-stairs to 
fast-en it. 

Oth-er mas-tiffs have the sense to know that if they catch a rob-ber on 
their mas-ter's place, they need not. al-ways bite him. I have heard of 
dogs of this kind who would spring up-on a rob-ber and throw him down, 
and then, hold-ing him fast, would bark un-til some one came to se-cure 
him. And when the man got up it would be found that he had not been 
hurt at all. Some dogs — e-ven big ones — would never catch a man with- 
out bit-ing him/ They would think it was all right. 

It is this good sense which makes the mas-tiff one of the best of dogs 




to own. He is large and strong and ver-y brave, but there are dogs 
that are as large and as brave as he is, and some of these could e-ven beat 
him in a fight. 

But there is no big dog who is so strong, so brave and so wise, all 
in one. E-ven the best New-found-land dogs will some-times for-get 
them-selves, and chase chick-ens or kill sheep. 

But a good mas-tiff would not do this. He knows he has a du-ty to do, 
■and he thinks a-bout it. He is al-ways at home. If a stran-ger comes to 
the house, he does not rush at him bark-ing, as if he would fright-en him 
a-way. He walks down to meet the man, and goes with him to the door. 
There he waits un-til the man is let in ; or, if he is not let in, the mas-tiff 
walks with him to the gate. 

If the stran-ger be-haves him-self, all goes well, but it would not do for 
him to try to steal. 

I think you will a-gree with me that, though the mas-tiff is not as hand- 
some as some oth-er dogs, he is as fine a fel-low as any of them. 









[A Dialogue for Baby to Learn with Mamma. ) 

Here we are in our nice warm nest — I and my lit-tle bird. 
I won-der if he is a-wake? I must list-en. 

Peep ! peep ! 

Oh, yes. He is wide a-wake. What do you want, lit-tle 

Peep ! peep ! peep ! 

Oh, you want your break-fast, do you ? Well, I must fly 
a-way and find you some-thing nice. 

Peep ! peep ! peep ! peep ! 

What ! Do you wish to go, too ? 

Peep ! 

Very well. The sky is blue, and it is a nice bright day. 
Let me see if your lit-tle wings are strong. (Mam-ma 
works ba-by s arms gent-ly up and down.) Yes, the 
wings are strong. Now, come ! (Mam-ma takes hold 
of Ba-by s hands and lets him skip with her a-cross the 



Did you ev-er go on sun-ny days the pret-ty flow-ers to pull, 

And, kneel-ing in the mead-ow, fill your lit-tle a-pron full ? 

Did you ev-er see the dai-sies shine, and hear the bird-ies start, 

Till you some-times found it hard to tell the flow-ers and song a-part? 

And did you ev-er feel the breeze steal light-ly to your cheek, 

As if it loved you ver-y much and had a word to speak ? 

Well, if you have known all these things so beau-ti-ful and wild, 

I 'm sure the birds and flow-ers and breeze have known a hap-py child. 





Great poles have lately gone up in my meadow. 
They have wires stretching along between the tops, 
and there the birds settle and gossip in fine style, — 
dozens of them, sometimes, in one shining, bobbing 

Yesterday morning they held a meeting there. 
Some of the birds thought there were too many 
wires, others thought the place was too public but 
on the whole they were delighted, and passed a 
unanimous vote of thanks to the kind unknowns 
who erected this splendid perching-ground for 
them. One old bird said : 

" My friends! This is at least a hop in the right 
direction, and it is sung on good authority that 
one of our race known as The American Eagle is 
at the bottom of it." 

Then they all piped three tremendous little 
cheers, and flew away. 

Now you shall hear about 


My dear friend Jack : We have had sent to us a pair of little 
earthenware moccasins. To think of a little child pattering ahout in 
high crockery slippers without heels ! They are rough inside, but 
smooth outside ; one is of a dark red color, and so is the other, but 
it has, besides, a broad black band where it was burned black by the 
fire. They are made of a clay that has what look like gold specks 
in it, and these shine and sparkle in the light. 

If your children had that kind of clay to play with, they could 
build doll-houses with it, and let them harden in the sun, and even 
make tiny moccasins for the dolls. 

Our clay moccasins are only large enough for a big doll, I should 
think : but they really were worn by a little girl, one of the Pueblo 
Indian children. These Indians are undersized people who live 
now in New Mexico ; but whether they lived there always, or 
whether they went from the North and are descendants of the ancient 
race called Mound-builders, I do not know. — Truly yours, 


Somewhere near Newark, Ohio, I 'm told, there's 
a bird whose body is one hundred and fifty feet 
long, while each of his wings is one hundred and 
ten feet across ! A tremendous fellow ! Who 
measured him, I wonder, and how big must a little 
boy be to safely put salt on the monster's tail ? I 

hope he wont try to perch on my pulpit, — even in 
a friendly way. 

Most birds will not meddle with you, if let alone, 
my dears, and 1 suspect this one is not very active 
just now ; but here is news that looks rather serious : 
Word has come that in Wisconsin there are ani- 
mals as large as this bird, and that look like giant 
bears and tigers. 

This is startling, I must say. But who found 
them ? and how is it that nothing was heard of 
these enormous creatures when they came to this 
country, — if they are foreigners, — or while they 
were growing to their present size, if they are 
American born? 

Please inquire into this matter, my youngsters, 
especially those of you who are in the threatened 
districts, and let your Jack know what you find out. 


THOSE of you who have picked deep holes in 
the mill-stones of science, my painstaking young 
investigators, know as well as anybody else that a 
long, thin flame, when allowed to rise through a 
tube of glass or metal, can be made to roar and 
sing very loudly, and even to give out barking 
noises, keeping silence, however, until blown upon. 

Well, a flame strait-jacketed in this curious 
way can be placed near a window at night. Then 
if any person who ought n't to happens to open 
the window, or a door, or to break a hole so that 
a draught makes unsteady the air about the flame, 
the barking begins, and the improper person goes 
off in shame and haste, — unless, of course, he 
already knows about barking flames, for then he 
just turns out the light, takes what he wants, and 
goes away in silence. 


.L. H. sends this true story about a horse : 

There were two horses, one of them blind, be- 
longing to a country doctor out West, who for 
eighteen years drove them on his rounds of visit- 
ing, generally harnessing them together. 

One evening, the doctor took out his blind horse 
alone, and drove him until late. On his return he 
put the horse into a stall next to that of its mate, 
there being a tight board partition between them 
from floor to ceiling. Then he threw some ears 
of corn into the manger and went in-doors. 

By and by, the doctor was startled by curious 
sounds from the stable, and he took a lantern and 
went to see what was the matter. As he drew 
near, he heard the two mates calling and answer- 
ing each other in cheerful tones ; and, when he 
looked into the stable, there was the blind horse 
pushing ears of corn to his friend through a big 
knot-hole in the partition ! The two old chums 
were having a brotherly chat, and enjoying it all 
the more because they were going halves in some- 
thing good to eat. 


Dear Jack : Our neighbors here in San Jose, California, have a 
great many rabbits of different varieties, and they are very careful 
not to give them water, even wiping off the moisture from the 
cabbage-leaves before feeding them. The children say they would 
get the " wet-mouth? as they call it, if they drank water. It has 
always seemed very strange to us elders, and we were very incredu- 




lous about it at first, but know it is really true. I read the commur.i- 
cation of S. W. K., in your February budget, and it reminded me 
of these rabbits. They have their houses too high from the ground 
to get any water for themselves, so of course they actually live with- 
out fluid, excepting the water that may exist in the vegetables they 
eat. I do not know whether this peculiarity is confined to California 
rabbits or not. You know there are a great many months in the 
year with us in which the streams are all dried up and no rain falls, 
so it is lucky for any animals here who can live without water. 

A. B. F. 

Somf. friends of mine had one of the first aqua- 
ria in Iowa. The boys of the family put the fishes 
they brought from country streams into a well- 
protected tank in the back yard of their home. 

Every day the little fishes would be missing. 
Where could they go? If a fish loses even one 
scale it shows in the water ; if many scales are 
rubbed off he gets sick ; if he dies, he turns over 
and floats on the water. But to have the fishes 
utterly disappear from a deep tank was a mystery. 

The boys had a pet crow named Jack, who was 
fond of flying about when the family were at the 
table, eating ; then he would perch on their fingers 
and shoulders and coax for crumbs. When he 
had his mouth and the pouch in his cheek full 
of crumbs, he would fly away. No one knew 
where he went, and, he was so sly, it was long 
before any one found out. 

One day at dinner the mother happened to go 
to a back window. There was naughty Jack, 
dropping crumbs upon the water of the tank so 
that the fishes would jump up to the top for them, 
and, as they did this, he gobbled them up. 

After that, no crumbs were given him, and the 
fishes were carefully protected. 

body must have molded them for fun. The geologists think that it 
was all done by the action of water, ages ago. 

Here is a picture of some of these queer rocks. The two that 
stand side by side are in a beautiful park, about ten miles north of 
Colorado Springs. This Park is called Monument Park, because it 



My Dear Bovs and Girls: Your dear Little Schoolma'am has 
asked me to tell you something about the wonderful rock figures in 
Colorado, and I am very glad to comply. 

The strangest things in that strange country are the sandstone 
rocks. They are of bright colors — red, white, yellow, and pink, and 
they are of such queer, quaint shapes that you would think some- 


is full of rocks which look as if they had been cut and carved into 
shape. These two are huge figures, and are called "The Twins," 
or "The Two Brothers," or, by some people, "The Two Dutch- 
men." I think the last name is the best. 

The other rock is called "The Phrenologist." You see, it really 
does look a good deal like the head and upper part of the body of a 
person who is feeling another person's head, and that, you know, is 
what phrenologists always do. Thisison " Austin's Bluffs," about 
five miles east of the town of Colorado Springs. These bluffs are 
several hundred feet higher than the plains about them, and from the 
top there is a most beautiful view of several ranges of mountains, and 
the town of Colorado Springs lying below. All the rocks on these 
bluffs are of a pale yellow color, and they look beautiful among the 
dark pine trees. I think you will find pictures of other Colorado rock 
figures in the second volume of St. Nicholas. Yours truly, 

H. H. 

Did you ever see a cactus ? In the great West, 
beyond the Rocky Mountains, there are cactus 
thickets, outlandish, tangled and thorny, but bear- 
ing beautiful flowers which travelers prefer to 
admire at a distance. Well, the Californians have 
discovered a way of making good writing-paper out 
of these cactus plants. Is n't that news? It seems 
to me that good, strong, sweet poetry might be 
writ on such paper. 


If you watch, you will find that a butterfly, 
when about half an hour old, is not shy of your 
coming near to it ; but when three or four hours 
old, it seems already to have learned that, as a 
general thing, it is not safe for a butterfly to trust 
to the kindness of human beings. 

No doubt it learns, during the rest of the one or 
two days of its short life, a great many things 
more happy and pleasant for it to know ; but it is 
a pity to have it begin to fear while yet so young. 
And I 'm told that matters are much the same with 
other insects, poor things ! 





Of the many hundreds of stories sent in by the boys and girls in 
response to our request on page 316 of the February number, a large 
proportion are really goad, considering the ages of the writers. Only 
two or three of the contributors are over fifteen years of age, and the 
youngest is only eight. 

It was very difficult to select the one best story from so many, and 
therefore we have concluded to print the following three — and to give 
in one long Roll of Honor the names of all the other young folks who 
sent in creditable stories. We are glad to note the good handwriting 
and careful spelling of the communications. 


At the time of the French Revolution, Count de Barry was falsely 
accused of treason, and thrown into prison. He had an old and 
trusty servant, in whose charge he had left his wife and child. Pierre 
was deeply grieved to see his master thrown into prison, and was so 
urgent in his entreaties to be allowed to visit him there, that he was 
at length permitted to do so; but, as the keeper said, he was only to 
stay with the Count for one half-hour. He entered the low, dark 
room, and kissed his master's hand, dropping hot tears upon it. As 
snon as their first emotions were over, the Count said : " Pierre, I am 
afraid there is no hope for me! I do not know who my false accuser 
is, but he is so eager in his efforts to have me killed, that I cannot be 
saved. However, to-morrow I shall be tried." Then the Count 
instructed him as to his wife and child. Much too soon the keeper 
appeared, and announced the expiration of the time. Master and 
servant parted. Sleep shunned Pierre that night, and he lay thinking 
of means to save the Count. Anxiously he awaited the next evening, 
but, alas! he heard that his master would die on the guillotine. In 
the night he had formed a plan, the success of which 1 will relate. 

Pierre had gone to the Committee of Public Safety, had obtained a 
pardon for his master, and was hurrying to the prison. He had 
spent four days in obtaining it, having made many unsuccessful 
efforts, and now every minute was precious. It was two minutes 
past four, and still he was faraway from the prison. Twenty minutes 
more, and his master woidd be dead. Quickly you walk, Pierre, but 
not quick enough for such a cause ! Suddenly he looks in his wallet, 
into which he had put the pardon. He stands blank with despair and 
amazement: it is not there ! He examines further, throwing out his 
handkerchief : a great hole is in the wallet. Now the moments fly by 

unobserved by the almost frantic Pierre. He hears a rustling; there 
lies the pardon under his foot! He rushes up to the prison, he sees 
the place of execution, and his master is almost on the guillotine. He 
shouts, shows and waves the pardon, and Count de Barry is saved ! 

Ida Gimbel, aged 12. 



'T was a letter, a wonderful letter, 

That was sent to a wise old king, 
To tell how to get rich in one minute, 

And all that sort of thing. 
So the king sent forth a butler, 

A servant of high degree, 
To get that wonderful letter, 

And see what the message could be. 
The butler got the treasure, 

And stowed it away with care, 
And hurried off along the road, 

Then climbed the castle stair. 

" I have it! " he cried, and every one 
Stood gaping to sec what next would be done; 
But his face grew white, and he dropped his hat, 
And gasped as he felt in his pocket. "That 
Rascal has fooled us! " cried the king; 
" Let him stand where he is till we find the thing." 
" Lost ! Lost ! " moaned the men, as they hunted each lane. 
Said the king, "In the castle we '11 meet again; 
We '11 question the man where the letter can be, 
And if he don't know, he shall die," quoth he. 
So the men trooped up the castle stair, 
And called to the butler, " Where, oh, where 
Is the wonderful letter we long to see? 
Where, oh, where can the letter be?" 

Then a little child ran into the room, 

Laughing and crowing with delight, 

tor on the butler's shoe-buckles big 

Shone a sunbeam gnlden and bright. 

Down dropped the little one, to see 

What the bright shining things might be; 

And lo and behold ! beneath the shoe 

Of the butler, she spied a paper too! 

In amazement the child drew a letter out, 

And then the wise men set up a shout. — 

"l'was the wonderful letter, as sure as could be. 

Each man ran up, to try and see 

Before the rest what the message might be; 

And each grabbed the paper, and, sad to say, 

Each wanted to take it a different way; 

And by the time it reached the king 

There was nothing left of that wonderful thing. 

So the king and his wise men never will know 

What the wonderful letter had to show. 

Libeie S. Hawes, aged 12. 


The man in the picture is Sam, the butler, who is too good-natured 
to know when he is imposed upon, and thinks he must always be to 
blame when things go wrong, as everybody blames him. But he never 
was in such a " fix " before. His employer gave him a letter to mail, 
the loss of which would cause great trouble and cost Sam his place. 
Snap (his wife) thought he could carry a geranium slip to her cousin 
Kate at the same time, borrow her slip per- pattern and last fashion 
magazine, stop at the store for a paper of pins and two spools of thread 
(one pink and one black), a ball for the baby, some chewing-gum for 
Sue, three yards of tape and a bottle of pepper-sauce. And he was 
also to be sure to call at Mrs. Bigswell's for the ten dollars she owed 
Snap for washing, as she must have it right away to get a dress off 
that pea-green delaine at Cheapman's before it was all gone. Poor 
Sam was so afraid he might forget some of Snap's errands that he 
decided to attend to them first. He heaved a sigh of relief when he 
saw the last spool tied up, and Mrs, Eigswell's bill safe in his pocket, 
and started for the post-office; but the little "errands of love" had 
made him so tired that he sat down by a fence to rest, and fell fast 
asleep ! When he awoke, he saw two suspicious-looking men just 
going out of sight ; he thought at once of the letters and money 
which he had carefully placed in one wrapper. Putting his hand in 
his pocket, he found it gone .' He jumped to his feet and felt in every 
pocket, laid down his cane so he could use both hands, and searched 
again ; then took off his hat so he could think faster, and finally drew 



out his handkerchief to wipe the drops from his forehead as he pict- Poor Sam! — But if he would only quit gazing at vacancy, and 

ured the rage poor Snap would fall into over her loss. And he fairly look under his left foot, go home and ask Snap to mend his pockets, 
howled when he thought of the possible ruin for his master. he might live several years yet. Loretta Brown, aged 12^. 


Anne T. Withington— W. P. Muun — H. Crane — Ruth L. Palmer — George Ziegler — Ausburn F. Towner — Grace Boutelle — Pauline 
M. Lutz — Agnes V. Luther — Grace A. Hobart — Lilian Fitzgerald — Marion B. Hudson — Anna T. Wright — Edward M. Biddle — Davie 
Jacobs — B. H. Watburton — Nellie Wolf — Carrie L. Parker — Sue M. Littell — Lizzie Langton — Sadie Foole — F. W. Parker — Matie Mitch- 
ell—Bertie Manier— Charlie K. Barry— Sarah Pedlow— H. G. Brengb— Bessie W. McKelvie— David Lewis— Eddie Miller— L. B. 
Needham — " Bessy " Norton — Roilin Blackman — Gertrude D. Savage — Ridie McAllister — William Corben — Henry Gay — Annie Miller — 
Belle Barr — G. H. Smith — James Harvey Lang — Mrs. Geo. T. Williams, for her children — Ellen Fowle and Geo. A. Fowle — Julie S. 
Lawton — Maria Louise Wilson — L. M. Baugh — Arthur H. Bowditch — Lizzie Farrow— Gertrude Weil — F. N. Boynton — Nellie Bisland — 
Willie E. Gaunt — Gussie Rawson — Louis A. Holman — Nellie C. Huggett — S. L. Wells — Everett W. Shumway — E. C. Aiken— Jacob H. 
Miller — Agnes E. Babcock — Ada M. Fitts — Robin A. Law — Edith Grace Btistow — Florence G. Gilling — Mary K. Keyes — Jas. R_ 
Robertson — Dandelion and Clover — Louella M. Brown — Grace A. Petit — Rosalie L. Bradford — Max West — Eustace M. Trevor — Florence 
E. Pratt — Earl Andrews — Jno. L. Johnson, Jr. — Julia T. Johnson — Sadie Carrington — Anna M. Norton — Courtenay H. Fenn — Jessie 
May Young — Ernest Bigelow— Edith T. Stickney— Bessie Hoge — Lucy D. Waterman — Lizzie B. Congdon — Ada C. Collins— C. F. 
Robinson — June Stevens— Alice Stedman — Hiram H. Bice — Grace E Rockwell — Florence Harper — Bessie Ladd — Georgianna Chandler- 
Mary J. Hull— J. Kingsley Blake — Florence Hull Watson — Pearl Clayton Nichols — Mary Millett — W. Constantine Pope — Virgie 
Watson — Daisy Reed — Eleanor D. Plumb — Clara Glynn — Nettie Golay — Mamie W. Cannon — Frank E. Haskell — Freddie E. Cannon — 
Wm. B. Faville— Marion S. Decks — Chas. W. Ford — Amy Smith — Virginia C. Garden — Rubt. F. Taylor — Katie H. McReynolds — 
Lillian S. Apgar — Henry M. Thomson — Amy Brautigam — Clarence Marsh — Menitta Libby — Arthur James — Mamie Blake — Florence 
Nightingale — Grace M ills — Margie Heron — Mamie A. Phcebus — Annette Phoebus — Chas. M. H. Tracy — Emma Dils — Hattie Coral 
Smith — Fannie M. Levy — Josie L. Fox — Elsie L. Shaw — C. Morris — Fanny Lee Robinson— Frank W. Wentworth — Mary C Hall — 
Florence T. Lanman— -Came Mallick — Emma H. Crnne — Alice Hall — Mary Payne — Benj P. Ellis — Lucy Gibson — Flora Tucker 
— Florence M King — Minnie M. Whitford — Belle G. Stone — Kittie Little — Aaron Goldman — Annie V. Gore — S. P. R. Chadwick — 
Norman G. Johnson — Minnie Slover — Charlie D. W. Thresher — Bertha Potts — Helen F. Stone — Sadie H. Harlow — Clara L. Hovey 
— Mabel N. Butterfield — Grace B. Latimer — -Miss Bemtenmarsch — Alice E. Bugbee — M. Claire Sherwood — Mary V. Wood — Lily Avis 
Barton — Fleda M. Hardy — Fannie B. Montgomery — Terisita Soule — Mary Edith Gilbert — A. Collins Ely — Nannie Fitzhugh — Harold 
B. Smith — Lillian E. Rogers — Edith R. Leonard — Thomas Herbert Chase — Sadie Zarrone — Nettie Schoch — W. Hermann — Nellie 
Greenhill — Rose Garland Filer — Lillie C. Kennish — Bessie B. Thompson — Mollie Potter — Henry B. Hedrick — John Bolgiano — A. A. 
Nickerson — Martha W. Forsyth — Arthur B. Pinney — Isabelle S. Baldwin — Lila Tayler — Lucius M. Hull — May T. Harwood — Jeame M. 
Rowell — Henry Stillwell — Ethel G. Murray — Leoline Waterman — Frank Gray — Bertha Wiley — Edna C. Spaulding — Jessie D. Brooks — ■ 
M. K. Potter — Florence L. Blair — W. Western — Eugene Reilly — Edith Henry — Lucy Barrels — Margaret A. Lichfield — Ida S. Woodhouse. 


Here is good news for every St. Nicholas boy and girl who is 
kind-hearted, or who loves any dumb animal. Some time ago, the 
Massachusetts Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals made 
an offer of various prizes '* to the publishers of any books, magazines 
or newspapers, in which the cause of mercy to animals has been most 
satisfactorily explained and defended," and — to our joy and surprise 
— the report of the judges says: "We have selected for the first 
prize the St. Nicholas, a monthly published in New York, by 
Scribner & Co." 

We are very glad if these pages have been of influence in aiding 
so noble a cause; and the hearty interest and co-operation the boys 
and girls have shown is a happy promise that the coming men and 
women of America will sustain and cany on the good work ot protect- 
ing dumb animals. So long as horses, cattle, dogs, cats and birds 
continue to be our companions, sharing, in some way, our daily lives, 
there will be constant opportunity of befriending and helping them, 
and we consider every St. Nicholas reader who shows a kindness 
or averts a cruelty to any dumb creature, as a sharer in the honor 
of the Society s award. 

printed. We give now Col. T. A. Dodge's reply to our letter of 

Brookline, Mass.. April 25, 1880. 
Editor of St. Nicholas : 

Dear Madam : It is more than ten years ago since I sent the 
article entitled " Napoleon and the Young Egyptian " to Our Young 
Folks. I had entirely forgotten it. 

It is a translation from Wilhelm Hauff 's works, and was sent as 
such. 1 remember that I was asked what vouched for the truth of 
the story, and I replied, quoting my source. I was unaware, until 
to-day's receipt of your favor of 21st inst., that another translation 
existed. My copy of Hauff's works was given me, as a lad, in 
Germany. A comparison of the original with both translations would 
probably show that each was an independent translation. 

I sincerely regret that St. Nicholas, our most welcome monthly, 
should, by any carelessness of mine, have the slur of plagiarism cast 
upon its columns. I certainly sent the article for what it was, and 
supposed so much to be shown in the MS. 

If the letter of transmittal or the ensuing correspondence are sti'l 
extant, they will speak for themselves. 

Very truly yours, 

Theo. A. Dodge. 

G. S., asd several other correspondents: The story of 
" Napoleon and the Little Egyptian " originally was contributed to 
Our Young Folks. It came into our hands several years ago, with 
sundry other unpublished MSS accepted by that magazine, and re- 
purchased by Scribner & Co. at the time of its consolidation with St. 
Nicholas. The author's correspondence with the editor of Our 
Young Folks had not been preserved with the MS., and the latter 
(as received by us) bore no acknowledgment whatever that the story 
was a translation. We therefore printed it in our April number, 
with a picture drawn for us by Mr. Reinhart. But almost as soon 
as it appeared, we discovered the coincidence upon which the press 
has since very properly expressed its opinion. It was too late then 
to explain in our May issue, as that number was already being 

The following, from T. B. G. , of Baltimore, may comfort some of 
our city boys : 

Dear St. Nicholas: I disagree with your correspondent, Mr. 
W. Gladden, in what he says about city boys. It may be quite true 
that they do not always, or generally, gain the highest pinnacles of 
wealth: but in lower positions it is a question whether they do not 
enjoy life more than those above tbem, and live it in a more generous 
and better manner. I have had much to do with boys, and have 
seen them growing and grown, and, without data, do not think that, 
with us, the large per cent, of successful men are those born and edu- 
cated in the country. Yours, with respect, 

T. B. G. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Reading about Editha and the burglar in 
the February number, reminded me of something that happened to 




one of my relations, when she was a little girl. She lived in one of 
the islands of the Pacific, where the people are mild and quiet, or 
she might not have been so brave. She was sleeping in a bed that 
st >od near a door, when she was awakened by a noise in the room, 
and drew the blanket over her head. The door was fastened with a 
bolt, and in trying to push it back the burglar sat on the edge of her 
bed. Then the little girl stuck a pin into his flesh. You ought to 
have seen him! He jumped, and I guess he thought he 'd better get 
out of that place. 

Then she ran into the next room and told her brother, who had a 
little lead cannon in his room. He said he could frighten the burglar 
best by firing it off; but he was so long about it that the burglar got 
away very easily. Only, he dropped his handkerchief, and so was 
caught afterward. I have a small cannon, too, that came from Paris, 
and 1 mean to shoot the first burglar I see. — Your constant reader, 

P. L. Weaver, Jr. 

C. H. Fleming and Others.— See Dr. Sanford B. Hunt's 
"Talk about Swimming," printed in St. Nicholas for July, 1877, 
and illustrated with eight descriptive pictures, prepared by Mr. J. E. 
Kelly and approved by Dr. Hunt. The article gives plain directions 
how to swim, both off the sea-beach and in fresh water. 

Read the following letter, received by the Editor early in March, 
1880, from Columbus, Indiana: 

Dear St. Nicholas: We thought we would tell you how you 
enabled our brother to save a boy from drowning. He, together 
with several of his friends, was in bathing, when one of the boys, 
who could not swim, slipped from a log into the water. Brother 
Charlie had read your article on "swimming" in the July number 
of 1S77, and saved the boy's life by following your directions — 
Yours, very respectfully, E. and W. P. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Another boy and I are going to build a boat, 
and we are in a muddle how to go to work. I thought that you would 
try to help us about this, by having an article on the subject. — Yours, 
respectfully, J. M. T. 

In St. Nicholas for July, 1875, is a long, illustrated article, 
entitled " How to make a Boat," which will enable any boy who is 
handy with carpenters' tools to build a serviceable and safe row-boat, 
at a reasonable cost. We shall soon print a pnper on " Small boats: 
— How to rig and sail them." 

Will the gentleman who, some time ago, forwarded the beautiful 
paper sleigh and reindeer made by a little boy, please send his 
name and address, as his letter has been mislaid ? 

New York, 1880. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I am six years old and have an alligator. 
It will not eat anything and I am afraid it will die. I let it crawl 
all over me and am not afraid of it I take the St. Nicholas, and 
like it very much. Walter F. Wood. 

This is not a lot of alligators. It is only one alligator in a differ- 
ent place all over me- Walter F. W. 

Dear St. Nicholas: In answer to the question of Joshua C. 
Hubbard in the March " Letter-Bo.\,"— " Why is it that when an 
iron is hot it will iron better than when it is cold? " — 
1 Roll a piece of paper about anything that is round, and tie it with a 
string; after dipping all into water, put it in the sun to dry. When 
dry, untie the string and you will find that the paper will remain 
rolled, because it was dried rolled. So, when you iron a piece of 
dampened cloth with a flat-iron, the heat of the iron dries the cloth 
very quickly, and the smoothness of the iron keeps the surface of the 
cloth smooth while it is drying, consequently the smoothness remains. 

But it is not the heat of the iron that makes the cloth stay smooth 
after it is ironed; it is the drying of it while smooth. If you were to 
hold a cold iron over one place on a damp cloth, and keep it there 
pressed down hard until the cloth should become dry, the cloth would 
remain smooth. But you would have to hold the iron for several 
hours if it were cold. If the iron is hot, however, it will dry the cloth at 
once. — Your constant reader, "HOPE." 

Kite-string Winders.— Willie Hubner sends a drawing of a 
handy kite-string winder, which he invented, and by which he avoids 
blistering his fingers. Mr. Beard says he has used a winder or reel 
very like Willie's, besides many others more or less ingenious; but, 
after all, he prefers the old-fashioned method shown in the accom- 
panying illustrations. He adds : " Sometimes, in raising a kite, the 

stick is dropped upon the ground for the sake of convenience ; then, 
if the wind catches the kite, the string is apt to slip between the fin- 
gers, as shown in the lower picture, and blisters arc the result. But 
if the stick is held in the manner shown in the upper picture, the 
fingers will not be blistered." 

Dear St. Nicholas : In answer to Walter and Robert Lowry's 
question abcut the markings of quail and woodcock, I will say that 
they are as follows: 

The Woodcock — The forehead is of a dirty brown, with two 
black bars across the back of the head, and two narrow ones in front 
on the neck ; a narrow dark line runs the whole length of the head, 
under the eyes and down to the bill, long and slender. 

Three broad bands of brownish-black pass from the shoulder to the 
tail. The breast is of a warm fawn color. 

Quail. — On the back the quail is of a beautiful brown ; under the 
body the feathers are almost white, with black bars. The male, or 
" Bob White," has a pure white spot over each eye and a white 
throat The bill is short and curved. Quail go in coveys or flocks, 
woodcock in pairs. Johnny A. 

Walter N. Burns. — The best answer that can be given now to 
your question is to refer you to the March "Letter-Box," 1880, where 
you will find a reply to a similar inquiry from J. B. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Some Sundays ago, our Sunday-school 
superintendent announced that there would be a "mass meeting in 
the afternoon, and the teachers would address the children." My 
little brother came home and reported to us that there would be a 
"mask meeting," and the teachers would "dress all the children." 
He was anticipating much pleasure at the masquerade, and, when 
Mamma explained that he had not heard aright, he was quite disap- 
pointed. — Yours truly, Josie Calvert. 

Lawson Y. Perkins. — You will find "Packard's Introduction to 
the Study of Insects " a serviceable elementary work on Entomology. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I have an amusing game for rainy days, 
called Apple Dumplings Take a stout cord ; stietch it from one side 
of the room to the other, tying it so that it will not come loose. It 
has to be about an arm's length above your head. Take a large 
apple ; punch a hole through it, so that it will not be too large for a 
string to be put through ; tie a small piece of wood to the end that is 
through the apple, so that the string will not come out; then tie the 
other end to the cord, so that the apple will hang even with your 
mouth. Ask some one to tie your hands behind you, and then try to 
bite the apple. This was tried at the Opera House. A doliar was 
offered to the one that first should bite the apple. G. H. 





I. 1. A vehicle of commerce. 2. To put out of sight. 3. A notion. 
4. The top or summit. II. 1. To preserve. 2. A broad surface. 3. 
To turn and change about. 4. Animals, grains and pitchers have 


j. h. M., and LtNA K. 

2 3 

3 4 


My i is in acknowledge. My i, 2, 3 is a vehicle of hire, common 
in London. My 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 is a much besieged city in Asia. My 3, 
4. 5 is a fish of a certain kind. My 5 is in California. 



Name the distinguished persons referred to in the following descrip- 
tions. The persons all bear the same Christian name. 

1. The "Golden Mouth." 2. The instigator of the massacre called 
"The Sicilian Vespers." 3. " Time-honor'd Lancaster." 4. Assas- 
sinated on the bridge of Montereau, France. 5. The hero of Lepanto, 
an Emperor's son. 6. The great Scottish religious reformer. 7. The 
apostle of the American Indians. 8. A blind poet. o. The " Inspired 
Tinker." 10. A great French dramatist, n. The victor of Ramillies. 
12. A noted philanthropist. 13. A celebrated musical composer. 14. 
The greatest author of Germany. 1 5. An unfortunate A rctic explorer. 

Tales: sesame. 2. A river of western Europe: maese. 3. A ridge : 
seam. 4. A boy's nickname: sam. 5. An endearing title: ma. 6, 
A Roman numeral : M. 

Solve the following dwindles in like manner. 

I. 1. To make smaller. 2. Raw. 3. The thickened part of a pleas- 
ant drinking fluid. 4. Food of a ruminant animal. 5. A French 
article in the possessive form. 6. A Roman numeral. II. 1. A letter 
of a pope on some point of church law. 2. To make known. 3. A 
piece of family furniture. 4. Closed with strings or cords. 5. A 
green and lovely depression. 6. A young and growing animal of 
much value. 7. Half a woman of high degree. 8. In enlighten- 
ment. III. 1. A famous Greek comic poet. 2. A winding river in 
Phrygia, Asia Minor. 3. To behave. 4. A female magician, daugh- 
ter of a king and niece of Circe. 5. To consider. 6. A river of Great 
Britain. 7. A nickname of a boy. 8. In accord. T. 


The answer is a stanza of a poem by an English poetess: 

— O — E — E — N — O — H — S — M — E — W — O — S, 

H — R — E — T — R — T- 

-D — H — E- 


C — E — T — U— L — A — E — , 
-L — F — O — . O. P. T. 



Find in the picture appropriate correspondences with the following 
seven sentences : 

1. What a tramp had, and what he was doing with it. 2. How 
young men admire, and the 
object of their admiration. 
3. Though not two yards 
long, it is as good as a mile. 
-■ *■*" .' 4. A note hard for bass 

voices to reach. 5. What hard times cause in trade. 6. A good 
motto for faint-hearted people. 7. Two measures of broadcloth. 

Lucius Goss. 


In each of the following puzzles, each word is part of a word, 
excepting of course the first word, is less by one letter than the word 
described next before it. Sometimes, after dropping the one letter, 
the remaining letters stand in unchanged order; but, in other 
instances, the remaining letters are re-arranged to form the word 

Example : 1. A word conjured with in one of the Arabian Nights' 

This cross is formed of five diamonds, as indicated by the diagram, 
the outer letters of the central diamond being used also informing 
the adjacent diamonds, which would be incomplete without them. 
Each of the four points of the central diamond is used three times: 
once as a point of its own block of stars, and once as a point of each 
of the two neighboring diamonds. The words of each diamond read 
the same across as up and down. 

I. Upper Left-hand Diamond: 1. In arithmetic. 2. To plunder. 
3. A familiar bird. 4. Large. 5. In iron. 

II. Upper Right-hand Diamond: 1. In monogram. 2. Part of 
an auxiliary verb. 3. Titles. 4. A large body of water. 5. In 

III. Central Diamond; 1. In grand. 2. Air of a peculiar kind. 
3. Parts of the fingers. 4. Slinking. 5. In gesture. 

IV. Lower Left-hand Diamond: 1, In patrons. 2. An affirmative. 
3. The homes of some two-legged animals. 4. An inflamed swelling 
on the eyelid. 5. In distribute. 

V. Lower Right-hand Diamond: 1. In pleasant. 2. Still. 3. To 
cut asunder. 4. A spelled number. 5. In crimson. 



Our firsts are in joker, not in sage, 
Our seconds in youth, but not in lad. 

Our thirds are in son, but not in page, 
Our fourths in cheerful, not in glad. 

Summer finds us both together, 

And gayest in the sunniest weather. 


The answer is composed of four words, or sixteen letters 

2, 6, 4 is a measure of length. The 11, 12, 10, 3 is a horned 
animal with a shaggy coat. The 9, 7, 14, 16, 13 is principal. The 
8, 15, 5 is anger. The whole is where and how I lost my home. 



There is a number which reads from right to left, and from left to 
right the same. Its first two figures, if divided by a certain number, 
give a quotient of 9; its tens and units (or the two numerals at the 
right) if divided by a certain number, give a quotient of 9- If the 
whole number be divided by 9, the quotient contains a nine. If the 
whole number be multiplied by 9, the product contains two nines. 
And if the two numerals at the left be placed under the two at the 
right, and added to them, the sum will be one-nineteenth of the whole 
number or answer. What is the number? HALLIE. 





the number of letters being always the same, and the letters remain- 
ing always in the same order. Sometimes the metamorphosis may be 
made in as many moves as there are letters in each given word, but 
sometimes more moves are required. Here is an example showing 
how to solve puzzles of this kind: Change lamp to 
fire, in four moves : First move, lame ; second move, 
fame; third move, fare; last move, fire. 

Solve the following eleven puzzles in a similar man- 
ner: i. Change dusk to seat, in six moves. 2. 
Change house to hovel, in fifteen moves. 3. 
Change warm to cold, in four moves. 4. Change 


eight moves. 5. 

Change dog to 

hen, in three 

. v . moves. 

This puzzle differs from 
an ordinary numerical enig- ,"• i - 

ma only in that i! gives pictures 
in place of the usual enigmatic defi- 
nitions. The answer, an oft-repeated 
quotation, has fifty-seven letters, and is indi- 
cated as a whole by the small landscape at 
the right of the illustration. 

In each of the thirteen divisions of the 
following statement, the Arabic numerals 
represent letters of the answer as these stand 
in the proper order of its words ; the Roman 
numeral refers to the picture that is described 
by the word which the represented letters 
spell. Thus, — "111. 36, 9, 21, 5, 22, 1" 
means that the picture marked with the 
Roman numeral III. is described by a word 

spelled with the 36th, 9th, 2tst, 5th, 22d, and 1st letters of the 
complete answer, namely — o, n, i, o, n, s, — and this will be found 

I. 4, 17, 27, 13, 11, 39, 8, 28, 26, 39, 6, 32, 2. II. 16, 14, 50, 54, 
46, 49,48. III. 36. 9, 21, 5, 22, 1. IV. 30, 29, 37. V. 57, 27, 47. 
VI. 51, 24, 52, 4, 14. VII. 45, 35, 43, 34. VIII. io, 27, 40. IX. 
3, 44, 7. 2 5- X. 55, 31, 56. XI. 15, 19, 39, 53, 2, 20. XII. 33, 34, 
55, 41, 42, 50. XIII. 33, 18, 12, 23, 38. H. H. D. 


1, In ibex. 2. Did eat. 3. A European country. 4. A tree. 5. 
In whey. bessie. 


The problem is to change one given word to another given word, 
by altering one letter at a time, each alteration making a new word. 

cloth to 
paper in sev- 
en moves. 7. 
Change pond to 
lake, in four moves. 
8. Change coal to 
wood, in three moves, 
moves, ic*. Change boy to man, 
seas 10 land, in six moves. 

awake to sleep, in 

four moves. 11. Change 



Stroke Puzzles. — 1. Hale, hate. 2. Dale, date. 3. Hall, halt. 

Pronunciation Puzzle. — Authority, awe, thaw, rye, tea. 

Square Word. — 1. Craft. 2. Razor. 3. Azure. 4. Forms. 
5. Tress. 

Tangles to Unravel. — I. The May Queen, Part I., stanza 9. 
II. Hamlet, Act III., Scene 1. III. In Memoriam, Canto cxv., 
Stanza 2. Pictorial Puzzle. — Cowslips. 

Word Building. — I. Gas, rags, sugar, guards. II. Nun, noun, 
union, nuncio. III. Rap, carp, crape, carpet, chapter. 

Geographical Acrostic. — Hamburg — Germany. Cross-words : 

I. HarrisburG. 2. AdrianoplE. 3. MadagascaR. 4. BelgiuM. 5. 
UticA. 6. RaritaN. 7. GalwaY. 

Diagonal Puzzle. — Diagonal: Cyprus. Cross- Words : 1. Cof- 
fer. 2. GYrate. 3. AlPine. 4. StaRch. 5. UsefUl. 6. AbbesS. 

Square Word. — 1. Brace. 2. Redan. 3. Adapt. 4. Caper. 5. 
Entry. Enigma. — Spring. 

Historic Scenes. — I. Socrates drinking the hemlock, b. c. 399. 

II. Henry III. gazing on the Duke of Guise lying dead in the Castle 
of Blois. III. Alexander of Macedon cut the Gordian Knot. The 

prophecy was that only he who should unmake the knot could be 
master of Asia. IV. William Tell, after shooting with an arrow an 
apple placed on his son's head. V. Rollo, Duke of Normandy, and 
Charles III. of France, A. d. 91T. VI. Pocahontas saving the life 
of Captain John Smith, A. D. 1607. 

Easy Enigmas. — I. Carpentry. II. Illicit. III. Figuratively. 

Central Omissions.— Verbena — 1. Novel, Noel. 2. Cheat, chat 

3. Coral, coal. 4. Rebel, reel. 5. Cream, cram. 6. Venal. 7. Mad, 
M. D. Grandma's Anagram. — May Training. 

Easy French Amputations. — 1. G-orge. 2. T-roi-s. 3. P-uni 

4. A-pres. 5. Sou-s. 6. Main-e. 7. P-laine. 8. C-hameau. 9, 
Cou-p. 10. Pari-s. 11. P-arc. 12. T-ours. 

Base-ball Puzzle. — 1. Muff. 2. Bat. 3. (Bat) Out on a fly. 4 
Game (rabbit.) 5. Foul (fowl.) 6. Plate. 7. Tie. 8. Pitcher. 9 
Sky-rocket. 10. Daisy-cutter (scythe). 11. Batter (in the bowl). 
12. Club. 13. Nine (ix on card). 14. , L core <xx on card). 15. Short- 
stop (comma after "paste," on bowl). 16. Match (besidebox). 17. 
Diamond (keystone). 18. Ball. 19. Bounds (fences). 20. Field 
21. Catcher (spider). 22. Base (of pillar). 23. Three balls. 

Solutions of Puzzles in the April number were received before April 20, from P. T., 4 — E. B. and M. K. B. 6 — W. C. D., 3— W' 
R, 7 _G. C. C, 9— H. S. D„ 4— H. T. 2— F. J. K\, 2- B. B., 3— M. C, 4- L. H. "P., 6— W. H. O., 5— W. L. S., 6— C. R. C, 1— 
H. C. L., 3— C. A. S., 3— M. B., 3— L. C. F., 2—" The McK's," 5—" Little Maggie," 1— R. C. H., 4— C. L. R., 6— C. S. B., 7 
_R. p., !_A. C. P. O., 4— R. B. S.,Jr., 5— L. S., 11— A. and H. T., 2— A. L R., 1— M. and J., 2— "Jupiter," 5— C. B. H., Jr., 5— 
C. H. F., 10— A. T. H., 10— "Two Cousins," 8— F. W M., S— L H. D. St. V., 6— G. and W. H., 1— H. U., 2— " Helen's Babies," 
6— L. C, 1— L. L.V. L., 8— M. J., 1— M. A. K 12.— W. V. D., 1— " Hope," 4— M. A. J., 1— C. J. V. A., 8— E. CD., 2— A. H., 1— 
R. A. S., 2— R. G. S , 3— P. A. B., 1— H. B. W., 3— R. S. Mel., 7— J- T. K, 5— M. S., 2— L. G. C, n— "Tom, Dick & Co.," 8— 
"Bessie and her Cousin," 12— F. D. S., 8— E. T. S., 4— S. S., 1— B. C B., 6— W. C. McL , 8— H. and B., 12— F. L. K., 12— A. H. 
L., 8— B. S., 9— A. C. R., 9— D. E., 9— B. W., 3— E. S., 3— " Winnie," 8— " Riddiers," 5— R. A. G., 8— "Chenery," 5— " Stowc 
Family," 12 F. W., 7 — " Bab and Betty," 5 — "X. Y. Z.," 9 — "Arthur and Rob," 7. Numerals denote number of puzzles solved. 


Vol. VII. 

JULY, 1880. 

No. 9. 

[Copyright, 1880, by Scribner & Co.] 

By S. W. Birnie. 

It was such a queer old face that looked in upon 
me through the open window ; and such a restless 
little body ! I put down the book I was reading 
and walked toward them for a closer view. 

"Good mornin'," a brisk voice spoke up, with 
a jerk of an uncombed, yellow-whitish head ; " I 've 
come to see Little Mr. Babe." 

"Oh, you have," I replied, somewhat taken 
aback, as the saying is, at the crisp salutation, and 
not knowing what this startling infant meant. 
"But who are you, and where did you come 
from ? " 

"Goodness," snapped this young pepper-box 
again, "don't you know that? Everybody 'round 
knows my father ; he 's a sexcum in this 'ere church 
across the way, and my mother, she takes in wash- 
in' and ironin', and we don't have sugar only 
Sundays, 'cause you see my mother she says she 
works too hard for me to wear my best hat, and 
sugar every day." 

" I suppose you help your mother a great deal," 
I said, as soon as I was permitted to express an 
opinion, and at the same time wondering to what 
use the restless creature could possibly be put, un- 
less it were to swing as a pendulum, or twist a gilt 
rooster on a weather-vane, as she never rested for 
over a minute on either foot, and her yellow head 
danced like a crazy sunbeam, keeping a sort of 
nodding time to her words, which rattled out like 
beans from a bag. 

" Yep," she nodded, " I sing ' Happy Day,' and 
wash my own face" (I thought very likely), "and 
scold Jont when he growls too much, and — " with 

VOL. VII.— 45. 

a sudden stand-still that threatened to upset her, — 
"Where 's Mr. Babe?" 

" I am sure I don't know, child," said I ; " where 
did you leave him last, and what is he? " 

" Well, now," she answered, with a scornful sniff, 
" that is a joke. Why, I say, aint you got a baby 
up in this house ? I heard you had from Marthy 
Kerru, and while my father was makin' the fire at 
the church for prayer meetin' (he has to make all 
the fires, don't you b'lieve, 'cause he 's the sexcum), 
I jest run away to see if Marthy Kerru told me a 
straight story about it. It was Marthy told me ; 
mebbe you know her ; that dirty-faced little thing 
you see runnin' for the cow 'round here, with her 
stockin's all down. She said you 'd jest moved up 
here from New York and brought along a baby." 

I told her I had not the pleasure of Marthy's 
acquaintance, and asked her to come into the 
house, adding — "if you are not afraid your mother 
will worry about you. The baby is asleep now, but 
you may sit down here with me and wait until he 

"Oh, I 'm four or six years old," she replied with 
a pitying glance for my ignorance, as, with a brisk 
" Here I am ! " she curled and wriggled over the 
window-sill into my room. "No; my mother 
wont worry about me. It 's Jont; he will growl so 
and tear his pants, and then you see my mother has 
to stop right in the hot suds and mend 'em. He's 
an awful young 'un, that Jont." 

Jont was n't, then, as I had supposed from her 
conversation, a bad-tempered dog. 

" Is Jont your brother ? " 




" I should say so. You-don't seem to know any- 
thing, do you ? But then you Ve jes' come, and if 
you want a good dress-maker, there 's one lives 
down by our house, that charges awful. I '11 speak 
to her if you like. Why, do you b'lieve she trimmed 
my Sunday hat; not this one" (holding up a 
very dilapidated reel flannel hood, she had been 
swinging by one string), "and would n't take no 
pay for it. But dear me, I s'pose we '11 have to do 
all her fine clo'es this summer to make up for it, 
and the hot weather 's awful tryin' ! " 

I began to fear that this intelligent atom was a 
trifle too wise. 

"Where 's Tomato? " she went on. "I know 
her; she came and talked to my mother over our 
fence. She 's a queer one, aint she? Kin you 
make out what she says? She asked my mother 
to give her some of our lylicks to bring home to 
you. Did you ever git them lylicks? I s'pose 
she thought she 'd git some rosies too, but lylicks 
has a pretty good smell to 'em, don't you think 

I certainly did think so, and was very much 
obliged to her mother for sending them to me. 
Temida, or as this precocious one called her, "To- 
mato," was my boy's nurse, and, as she remarked 
after her last question, " I s'pose she 's upstairs 
with Mr. Babe." 

"Yes," I answered, "she is taking care of him 

" He 's waked up then, has he ? Shall I go up ? " 

"No; I do not think he is awake yet; but Te- 
mida sits by his cradle while he sleeps, and rocks 
him if he stirs." 

"Flies bite him, I guess, this hot weather. They 
say it beats all the weather we ever had 'round 
here. You aint got any little girl 'cept Mr. Babe, 
have you ? Marthy Kerru said you had n't, and if 
you like, I guess I kin git you one. Mis' Jones 
she 's jes' died about three weeks ago, and left one, 
and do you b'lieve they sent it off to a 'sylum in 
New York. I wish 1 'da known you was a-comin'. 
I 'd a spoke about it. Mr. Babe must be lonesome. 
Kin he talk?" 

"No, he is too little to talk yet; but he crows 
sometimes " 

"Well, I declare; that's jes' like our chickens; 
they crow till my head is 'most off. He sleeps a 
long time though ; don't you think so ? " 

I began to think she was getting tired, as she had 
never sat down all this time, and that she was pre- 
paring to go and leave her object unaccomplished, 
but the next moment she was unburdening her 
mind of a new thought, and bombarding me after 
this fashion : 

" Mis' Kerru says you 've had more 'n five cooks 
since you came here to live, and you can't seem to 

keep 'em. What 's the matter ; don't you give 
'em enough to eat? " 

This was too much ! I replied, with a faint show 
of indignation, that I had not had five cooks, and 
I had never heard my girls complain of hunger, so 
that Mrs. Kerru must have been mistaken. 

"Well, I wouldn't wonder," was the response 
from Dame Durden, as I was calling her to myself, 
" for my mother says she's a queer one, or she 'd 
never let that Marthy go 'round with the cows, with 
her stockin's down an' such a dirty face. You 'd 
think she 'd clean her up now, would n't you?" 

I nodded, having no chance to speak. 

" An' do you b'lieve that dirty little thing goes 
over here to Sunday-school, jes' all the same, and 
don't care. But then it 's the greatest Sunday- 
school you ever knowed, or I would n't say so. 
Why, they don't give nothin' at Christmas, nor no 
time, but puncshall 'tendance cards, and your 
name on the black-board. Pooh ! Once we had 
a teacher give us a little book, but she 's dead now. 
Well, they do have a banner class, an' that 's the 
class that gits the most money. I 'd like to know, 
now, how they expect our class to git the banner. 
Why, my mother has to work awful hard, and my 
father 's the sexcum. We never give the tramps 
that come to our house no butter on their bread. 
We can't afford it ; and I 've just made up my 
mind they won't have me in that Sunday-school a 
great while longer. Look a here, do you think 
this is fair? There's that Hattie Hunt, she sits 
behind me, an' puts her feet on my clean dress 
that takes my mother so long to wash an' iron, an' 
then do you b'lieve I can't say nothin', 'cause she 's 
rich, and Mr. Brown, he 's the minister, of course 
would n't care if I did. He 'd jes' let her go on 
doin' it, an' let me go out. I 'd lick her, but she 's 
some bigger than my big brother George, and he 
dassent, you see. My, if it aint the queerest Sun- 
day-school ! Once they had a Christmas tree, oh 1 
long before you was here, and Hattie Hunt got 
a big doll with open and shut eyes, an' a 
cradle ; an' every blessed thing do you b'lieve 
they give me, was a white apron, an' not a pocket 
in it, an' a little stingy bag of candy. You see, 
Hattie Hunt's mother put her things on the tree 
for her, and the sewin'-school give me mine. 
There, now," with a sudden spring at the win- 
dow, that broke up the Sunday-school, " if you 
want to see Marthy Kerru, there she goes. Did n't 
I tell you? Look at her stockin's! Will I call 
her in, so 's you can git acquainted ? " 

"I guess not to-day; you can bring her with 
you some time. I think I hear the baby now, so, 
if you wish, we will go upstairs." 

This we at once proceeded to do, Dame Dur- 
den perking her head on one side like a bird, and 




giving everything she passed on the way a notice 
of some kind. 

" My ! " she exclaimed, stopping in the hall to 
inspect the baby-carriage, " I don't like that willow 
thing at all. I 've seen awful prettier ones. If I 
was Mr. Babe, I 'd tumble out of it." 

At this awful threat, the yellow head bobbed 
worse than ever, and then a-top of it, the young 


vixen perched the red flannel hood, which I was 
afraid would frighten Baby. 

" How do you do, Tomato ? " she at once saluted 
my nurse. "I 've come to see Mr. Babe. My! 
but you 're a little one ;" touching his nose with 

her little brown hand. " He aint got no hair to 
speak of, has he ? Shall I take him ? " 

" You may see if he will go to you ; but be 
very careful not to let him fall." 

" Come along, Mr. Babe," she said, holding out 
her arms. " I know you, and I '11 sing you ' Ring 
around a Rosy.' " 

But the baby, whose stock of words was 
somewhat limited, only opened his eyes very wide, 
and made up a wry face while he tried to say 
something that sounded more like "bug" than 
anything else. 

" What 's that he says?" asked Dame Durden. 
" I s'pose he wants my hat, but you can't have 
that, you know, 'cause you might put it in your 
mouth." Then, turning to me, " I s'pose you 're 
awful fond of him ? " 

"Well, yes; but don't you think he is a nice 
baby ? " 

" I should n't say he was so awful pretty, should 
you ? " 

"Why, we think he is a beauty up here. Just 
look at his bright eyes, and see how cunning he 
laughs. And he has six little white teeth." 

" My, would you b'lieve it, and for sure, they 're 
for all the world like Marthy Kerru's rabbit's teeth. 
Did you know Mis' Kerru is a-goin' to have that 
rabbit for Christmas ? To eat. My, I 'd as soon 
eat a cat. What 's the baby's name ? " 

" Alec," I answered, quite sure she would object. 

"My goodness! where did you get that name? 
Nancy is an awful nice name, but then, I s'pose 
you would n't like it for him. Why don't you call 
him Charley ? That 's a splendid name. Aint 
it, Mr. Babe ? " 

Mr. Babe had long since sunk into an awed and 
submissive silence. 

" I don't s'pose you git any dinner here in the 
middle of the day," was her next remark, and, as I 
found, her last one for that time. "Mebbe 
my mother '11 wonder where I am, 'cause you see 
I run away. Good-bye, Tomato. Good-bye, Mr. 
Babe ; mebbe I '11 bring you a pair of red slippers 
when I come up to-morrow. There goes that 
dirty Marthy Kerru. I '11 hurry, and tell her I saw 
the baby first." 

Then she literally flung herself down the stairs, 
and I saw her a minute later, her hands and feet 
and head, and tongue all in wild pursuit of poor 
Marthy Kerru. 





I |1 /(lou) "ha^hhu uJoald 1 \>q uutln ettUev were ^ 


toVV\ei- deav tKavmer avui 




By Julia C. R. Dorr. 

Roly-poly honey-bee, 

Humming in the clover, 
With the green leaves under you, 

And the blue sky over, 
Why are you so busy, pray? 

Never still a minute, 
Hovering now above a flower, 

Now half-buried in it ! 

Jaunty robin red-breast, 

Singing loud and cheerly, 
From the pink-white apple-tree 

In the morning early, 
Tell me, is your merry song 

Just for your own pleasure, 
Poured from such a tiny throat, 

Without stint or measure ? 

Little yellow buttercup, 

By the way-side smiling, 
Lifting up your happy fare, 

With such sweet beguiling, 
Why are you so gayly clad — 

Cloth of gold your raiment? 
Do the sunshine and the dew 

Look to you for payment? 

Roses in the garden beds, 

Lilies, cool and saintly, 
Darling blue-eyed violets, 

Pansies, hooded quaintly, 
Sweet-peas that, like butterflies, 

Dance the bright skies under, 
Bloom ye for your own delight, 

Or for ours, I wonder ! 



68 5 

By C. H. Farnham. 

As I walked along the docks of New York the 
other day, I came to a very large yard surrounded 
by a high board fence on two sides, a great shed at 
the back, and several schooners at the front along 
the water. The whole yard was filled with what 
seemed to be old logs and timbers that might have 
come from an old bridge or barn. They all were 
dark and rusty; some were even rotten in places, 
and full of deep checks or cracks. The timber was 
of all sizes and shapes : there were little short 
logs, just right for a fire-place ; also piles of stuff 
like cord-wood, and thick chunks like the knots 
you cannot split up for the kitchen stove; then 
halves or pieces of long logs — only the outside shell 
of trees that had lost their heart by decay ; also 
crooked logs the size of railroad ties ; and larger, 
squared logs, even as big as three feet across the 

Men were at work about the yard, hoisting and 
piling logs with tall derricks ; and some were weigh- 
ing the wood on steelyards. Teams were hauling 
logs from the schooners to the yard, by swinging 
one end on chains under the axle of a cart. And 
the vessels were busy, with tackles and men on deck 
and down in the dark holds. But the wood all 
looked so dull, crooked and worthless, that I 
wondered why anybody should take the trouble to 
store it. Just then I caught sight of seven men 
under the shed working very hard to lift something, 
and when I came to them, I found that they were 
trying to move a stick only about a foot in diame- 
ter and twelve feet long. It was so heavy that they 
could hardly stir it. This made me wonder what 
kind of wood it was; and on looking about I saw 
here and there fresh-cut ends of sticks or logs that 
were of strange colors. Some were red, some 
yellow, some green, some black. And all had 
figures and marks on the end to tell their size and 
even their weight. I soon found out that the yard 
was not filled with refuse timber, but with rare and 
costly woods used for making furniture and objects 
of arc. So those rough, crooked sticks were worth 
more than ten times as much clear lumber of 
common kinds. Just then the owner of the yard 
came up, and told me about the various woods. 

"These large square logs of red wood are 
mahogany from Mexico, and Spanish cedar. You 
see that many of them are squared in a queer 
shape, smaller at one end than at the other. The 
size does not grow less by tapering gradually, but 
by deep steps or notches on each side every few feet. 

The logs must be squared to stow closely in a ship's 
hold ; but this hewing away of the log wastes a 
great deal of wood — often the best part. So we 
went to Mexico some years ago, and built a saw- 
mill to saw up the logs instead of chopping them. 
But the natives were afraid that the mill would take 
away their work, and they burnt it down. We built 
it up again ; but as they soon destroyed it a second 
time, we had to let them go on in their old 
way. All the costly woods from Africa, South 
America, and other wild countries are still wasted 
in this way." 

' ' How many kinds of fine wood are there ? " 
" I cannot tell, exactly ; but there are several 
hundred, and perhaps thousands. New woods are 
being found every year, and some of them are made 
into furniture as an experiment. People are now 
finishing the walls of fine houses with wood 
instead of plaster, so that new woods are wanted 
to match the new styles of furnishing houses. 
Some years ago, we Americans followed the French 
fashions in furniture, and used a great deal of black 
walnut. One tree, or three logs of it about three 
feet in diameter, sold in this city for about $40,000. 
Of course it had a very uncommon grain, and was 
therefore very valuable. But black walnut is not 
a goodwood for furniture; it warps and springs, 
and works the joints loose. We now follow the 
English taste in household matters, and use more 
mahogany, rose-wood and oak. These are very 
durable and beautiful woods, and solid furniture 
made of them lasts many lifetimes. The best 
mahogany comes from the south side of the island 
of San Domingo ; but very good wood comes also 
from the western shores of the Gulf of Mexico, 
about Santa Anna, Tupilco and Chiltepec. The 
best is worth as high as $2.82 per foot in the log; 
but I once saw a piece valued at $4 per foot. 
Rose-wood grows in Brazil. This heavy wood is 
sold by weight in logs, from three to twelve cents a 
pound. Satin-wood from San Domingo is worth $2 
per foot. Some kinds of oak are very valuable. A 
single room in a house in San Francisco is fin- 
ished with brown weathered oak, imported in logs 
from England at a cost of $10,000. This weathered 
oak is turned almost as dark as walnut by exposure 
to the weather. The logs are allowed to lie on the 
ground for fifty years ; and the rain and sun strike 
the brown color clear through them. Bog-oak is 
another valuable kind of oak. It is found buried 
many feet deep in the bogs of Ireland. The trees 




fell many centuries ago in these swamps, and were 
gradually covered by the peat; and after soaking 
so long in the black mold they have turned almost 
as black as coal." 

As we walked about the yard and stopped at 
various lots of timber, the horses and men kept at 
work hauling and piling logs that came out of the 
vessels. The yard that at first had seemed full of 
old rubbish now seemed a very different place to 

" What is the value of all these piles of wood ? " 
I asked. 

" I don't know, exactly ; but probably about 
$400,000. You would be surprised at the 
variety of uses of some of these foreign 
woods. This pencil cedar from Florida is 
made into closets, piano actions, pencils, 
painters' brushes, and into coffins. There is 
a pile of box-wood from Turkey ; the sticks 
look like cord-wood, but they are worth just 
now about $250 per ton. It is used for wood- 
engraving, for printing the illustrations of 
ST. NICHOLAS and other magazines. The 
sticks are all sawed up across the grain, into 
little pieces about one inch thick; these are 
squared, fitted together very nicely, so as to 
leave no cracks, then glued together to make 
blocks of any size. The blocks are then 
planed and scraped till the surface is quite 
flat and smooth. The artist draws the pict- 
ures on these blocks ; then the engraver cuts 
the lines into the wood with sharp chisels, 
so that the ink will stick where it is wanted, 
and leave the block clean in other places. 
Box-wood is the best for this purpose, be- 
cause its grain is very close and fine ; and the 
blocks are made so as to present the ends of 
the grain to the surface, because the fibers 
in this position do not break or split in cut- 
ting or in printing. This granadilla, or 
cocus, a heavy, dense wood, almost black, is 
used to make knife handles. It looks like 
horn. Cocobolo is another close-grained 
wood, in color somewhat like rose-wood, 
used for the same purpose. They are so 
dense that they hold the rivets of the knife 
without splitting. Snake- wood, which has a 
grain that resembles the marks on some 
kinds of serpents, is worth eight cents a 
pound. It is used now and then to decorate 
furniture. Spanish cedar is one of the 
largest trees we import. I saw, in a Mexican 
port, a vessel about seventy feet long and 
eight feet wide, that had been cut out of a cedar 
log. She carried two masts and a bowsprit, and 
made quite long voyages. Here, now, is a log just 
arrived ; it is four feet two inches by two feet five 

inches on the end, and nineteen feet long ; it is 
worth $400. The heaviest wood we use is lignum- 
vitae, from San Domingo. It is made into dead- 
eyes for ships, into the sheaves of blocks, boxes for 
machinery, and ten-pin balls. It is worth from $12 
to $50 per ton. There is not much of it in a ton ; 
for that stick, about eighteen inches in diameter 
and three feet eight inches long, weighs 518 

' ' I suppose that, as new countries are explored, 
new woods are found that are valuable ? " 

"Yes; and some of the new woods are tried 
now and then, but they are not very valuable until 


they become fashionable. The colors of some of 
them are very pretty, such as that of the Colorado 
wood, like a blood-orange, and the amarilla, a 
bright yellow. A very costly wood is obtained 




from the French walnut burls. They do not grow in 
France, but on the Circassian mountains about the 
Black Sea. They are called French, because we 
buy them in France. The burl is a wart, or knot, 
that forms on the side of a young tree ; it has 
fibers and sap-vessels running from its root, or 
center, to its outer sides, or bark, by which it 
nourishes leaves and grows as the tree grows. 
The consequence is that the grain of the burl is 
very much twisted, and figured with pretty lines 
and knots. They often grow larger than the trunk 
of the tree which bears them. You must have 
seen them often on oaks, maples and beeches in 
our forests. I had a French burl last year that was 
seven feet high, five feet thick, and weighed 5000 
pounds. Some fine burls are worth as much as 
thirty-five cents a pound. A lumber dealer, 
traveling in Canada, saw a man trying to split up 
and burn a large burl. He bought it for $6; took 
it to Toronto and sold it for $50. From there it 
came to New York, was cut up into veneers, and 
one-half of the veneers were sold for $2500." 

I left the yard to visit a veneer mill, where these 
burls and some of the woods are cut into strips so 
thin that twenty-eight of them together are only 
one inch thick. The logs are steamed twelve 
hours ; then they are fastened in a machine where 
a knife shaves them up in broad sheets. These 
thin pieces are then put between the shelves of a 
hydraulic press heated to 400°, and kept there a 
few minutes to straighten and dry them. The 
burls, also, are shaved up into very thin sheets ; 
a burl, you see, is shaped like the half of an apple, 
and the best of the grain is on the outside ; so they 
make the knife take a circular motion over the top 
of the burl, and cut off a sheet from the round side, 
as you might cut off a strip of the apple-rind. The 
next cut takes off a sheet from the same place; 
and so the knife cuts up the whole burl, always 
taking the sheet from the circumference instead of 
from the flat base. Then all the veneers are set 
up edgewise in racks that stand out-of-doors, 
exposed to the sun, rain and wind. After they are 
thoroughly seasoned they are kept in a dry room ; 
all the veneers that came from each burl are piled 
up together, in their natural order, so that each 
pile seems like the burl again, although it is now 
composed of sheets almost as thin as paper. And 
as the fibers all start from the center or roots of 
the burl and run out to the circumference, all the 
sheets from a burl seem generally alike, — copies, 
as it were, of one picture, with the same general 
lines and colors. 

These beautiful veneers are often glued on to 
the common woods of which furniture is usually 
made ; but such sham-work is neither honest nor 
durable, and it would be much better to make 

expensive furniture of real, solid, fine woods, and 
common furniture of solid common woods. 

After going through all the various changes, 
these rare woods from foreign climes might tell 
interesting stories, if our furniture could talk : of 

their life in the great tropical forests, where 
monkeys and gorgeous birds played in their 
branches, and alligators, lions and elephants lived 
at their feet ; of their death when half-naked 
savages cut them down ; of their burial in the hold 
of ships to be brought to a great city ; of their 
being cut up into pieces by steam saws; of their 
long stay in the workshops, where they were 
planed, and carved, and polished ; of their coming 
out again into the world as chairs, tables and 
cabinets ; and of the various scenes they afterward 
witnessed in society. You see, rare woods hold a 
very important position in the world. 

But American boys need not buy foreign woods 
for their workshops ; for the forests of their own 
country furnish a great variety of pretty grains and 

You can make a very interesting collection of 
them for a little museum by getting a piece of each 
kind of tree, about six inches long and three to 
four inches thick ; leave the bark on, saw it in two 
in the center, and then plane, smooth and varnish 
the fiat wood-side and the ends. You will thus 
learn the bark and the grain of every tree from its 
heart to its sap-wood. You could make a more 
compact collection — a kind of library edition of 
trees — by taking short pieces of boards, cutting 
them into the size and shape of small books, 
smoothing and varnishing them ; then mark their 
names on the back as books are labeled, and place 
them on shelves. You might have also a separate 
division for foreign woods, and ask your sailing 
and traveling friends to bring you some pieces 
from distant countries, so that, when people come 
to see how much you know about woods, you could 
show them many volumes of practical, solid worth. 
You would get to know and to like all the trees 




and their woods ; and if you will take the trouble 
to observe the work of wagon-makers, carpenters, 
cabinet-makers, you will learn the uses for which 
each is best adapted. 

If you are a mechanic, you can make pretty chess- 
boards containing a collection of many woods, 
— maple, birch, and other light-colored woods for 
the white squares, and black walnut, apple-tree, 
and other dark woods for the black squares. If 
you have a lathe, you can make vases and cups 
showing beautiful colors and lines. If you live 
where trees are not very valuable, take a saw, an 
axe and a mattock, and drive into the forest to col- 
lect a store of wood for turning and for making 
small objects. 

I need not tell you here what special kinds of 
trees to choose, because half the pleasure of the 
work lies in discovering for yourself the qualities 
of each tree. But I will advise you what parts of a 
tree are the best for your use. 

In the first place, then, do not fail to take a 
sample of every wood you can easily get ; even 
the door-yard lilac-bush has a beautiful, close grain, 
and the common sumac has a rare olive-green 
hue ; indeed, every tree of a close, firm texture 
has some peculiar grain, color or quality. Of 
course you are not to cut down large trees just for 
this amusement ; but you are to take a branch now 
and then, — pick up pieces of cord-wood, perhaps, — 
and collect odd bits from brush-fences, and from 
trees already blown or cut down. The grain 
is generally prettiest in the most cross-grained 
pieces, — as where two branches join, or where a 
knot turns the fibers around it, — for in such pieces 
the lines and colors are most varied. Knots them- 

selves, if sound, are choice bits for turning; they 
present dark, rich colors, and close, varied grain ; 
and, being hard, they turn smoothly and take a 
fine polish. The roots of some trees have a pretty 
grain, very much twisted and crossed, particularly 
where the roots branch off, and where they crook 
about stones in the soil. Wounded places on the 
trunk or branches often show curious lines and 
stains. Then the warts or burls growing on the 
trunk make very beautiful saucers or vases; those 
on maples and birches, when large enough, are 
sold to make large wooden bread-bowls or trays, 
because the grain is so crossed and interwoven 
that the wood does not split or crack. The heart, 
also, of many trees is very hard, dark, and pretty 
for turning. 

You will find the search a pleasant excursion, 
— climbing trees, chopping, sawing, and digging 
in banks, — and driving home again with a lot of 
crooked, gnarled roots, forks, knots and burls. 
The only drawback is that they should be well 
seasoned before use, and this seasoning is perfectly 
secured only by storing them for three years under 
shelter, and where the air has a perfectly free 
circulation. Some will think them a worthless lot 
of rubbish, but you know that they are rare woods, 
and that they hide many beautiful lines and colors 
under their rough bark. You long for the day 
when you can take them in hand and make them 
into pretty vases, saucers and candlesticks for 
your friends. And the more you study woods the 
more interest you will feel in them, and the more 
pleasure you will take in the workshop where they 
are so useful, and in the forest where the trees are 
so beautiful. 


By John Lewees. 

Tom Morton was a young English fellow, who 
lived in Australia. He had been there for two or 
three years, and greatly enjoyed the outdoor life 
which he led, for, as his father was an extensive 
sheep-farmer, he had plenty of opportunities for 
all the open-air exercise the most active and 
healthy boy could desire. If anything was wanted 
from the town, twenty miles away, or if anything 
was to be done at the farthest point of the sheep- 
range, Tom was the fellow to mount his horse and 
ride awav to attend to the matter. 

One day, he had had a very long ride, and 
coming back late in the afternoon, he thought he 
would try a short cut. To do this, he must ford 
a small river, which was bridged a few miles above. 
He knew that there was a fordable place in the 
stream, somewhere near where he was, and if he 
could find it, it would save him nearly all the dis- 
tance to the bridge, and back again. 

He thought that he could better explore the 
bank of the river on foot, and so he tied his horse 
to a tree, and made his way through the reeds to 


68 9 

the water. There were not many trees here- 
about, and he could see better than in the woods 
where he had been riding, but he could find no 
place which looked as if it had been used as a ford. 
He walked quite a distance up the stream, and 
was about to give up his search, when he heard a 

western plains. These savages were armed with 
spears, and were approaching the river. It is 
probable that they had had no idea that any white 
person was near by, until Tom so rashly raised 
his head above the weeds. Then a great shout 
gave token that they saw him, and instantly every 


sound which startled him. It was like a footstep 
upon crackling twigs. He stopped and listened. 
He heard another — many of them ! 

He greatly wondered who could be steal- 
ing along in this way ; but as he incautiously 
looked up over the reeds, he was amazed and 
frightened. It was a band of native blacks, or 
bushmen, as they are called, who are often as 
dangerous to meet as the hostile Indians of our 

black rascal of them rushed toward him with 
brandished spear and fearful yells. 

Poor Tom had not a moment to think what he 
should do. There was only one thing that he 
could do, and that was to jump into the river. He 
threw off his hat and sprang into the water, with- 
out hesitating a moment. 

His first idea, which he formed as he gave his 
jump, was to swim under water to the opposite 




bank, but he soon found that he could not do this. 
The river was too wide, and he could not hold his 
breath long enough. He soon would be obliged 
to show his head above water, and the moment he 
did this he might expect to have half a dozen 
spears hurled at him. So, before his breath gave 
out, he turned and swam back to the bank from 
which he started, coming up gently among some 
tall reeds growing in the water. Here he crouched, 
with only his head above the water, and watched 
the enemy. 

The current had carried him some little distance 
down the river, but the blacks were not far from 
him, some on the bank and some standing in the 
water. By the attitude of the latter, whom he 
could plainly see, he supposed that they all were 
waiting with their spears poised, ready to hurl 
them at him the moment his head appeared above 
the surface. 

But it did not appear, and, judging from their 
cries and movements, they seemed much aston- 
ished at this. They had seen him go down, why 
did n't he come up ? Even if he had swum across 
under water, the opposite bank was in full sight, 
and they could have seen him when he reached 

But as he did not appear, they must have 
concluded that he was capable of staying under 
water like a fish, or that he had struck a stone or 
sunken log when he dived, and had been stunned. 
Evidently, they thought he was somewhere at the 
bottom, for they all waded in up to their waists, 
and began thrusting their spears into the water. 

Some went up the raver, and some went down ; 
they even crossed over, for the water was not 
higher than their chins, and wickedly jabbed their 
spears down to the bottom, at every step. 

Poor Tom trembled. Had not the daylight been 
so nearly gone, they might have seen the reeds 
about him shake a little. At any moment they 
might thrust their spears into the very place where 
he was crouching ! 

But they seemed to fancy that he must be at some 
distance from the bank, from which he jumped in, 
for the water near shore was not very deep, and 
they had seen him leap far out ; and so, for the 
greater part of the time, they kept near the middle, 
and toward the opposite side. 

It was not long, however, before a number of 
them began to cluster together, very near Tom's 
hiding-place. He could see them very plainly, 
through the reeds. Some seemed to be infuriated by 
their failure and were thrusting about wildly, while 
others were talking and gesticulating as if they 
were advising some different plan of action. One 
man began to thrust his spear into the reeds, not 
ten feet from poor Tom ! 

At this moment one of the savages, who was 
blindly jabbing about in every direction, approached 
a man who was calling to some others, apparently 
directing them to go up stream. He did not see 
the reckless fellow behind him, who, in his turn, 
did not notice the other, and giving a fierce thrust 
downward, he struck the man who was speaking 
fair in the heel. 

The moment he felt that his spear had caught in 
something, the man who had made the thrust 
threw up his weapon, by putting his left hand, in 
which he held a rude shield, under the spear, and 
giving it a powerful jerk into the air. As he did 
this, up came the foot he had speared, and down 
went the unfortunate owner of the foot, face fore- 
most into the water ! 

There was a tremendous splash, and a great yell 
of triumph. Everybody hastened to the spot where 
the exulting spearman held up the foot of his victim. 
But the surrounding savages had barely time to see 
that it was a black foot and a naked one, and there- 
fore could not be that of the white boy who had 
jumped into the river, before the foot, which vyas 
only held by its tough, thick skin, was jerked away 
from the spear, and the submerged savage arose from 
the bottom, dripping with-water, but with flashing 
eyes and cries of rage. Raising his spear, which 
he had never dropped, he glared around for an 
instant, to see who had done this outrageous deed. 
It was scarcely possible to make a mistake. The 
man who had speared him stood there, with his 
weapon in almost the same position as when it 
held the unfortunate foot in the air. 

Instantly the angry savage dashed at him, and 
as instantly the blundering spearman fled as fast as 
he could through the water. 

The pursued man dived to escape the spear which 
was hurled at him by his assailant, and then, 
followed by the whole party, yelling and shouting, 
the two savages made their way toward the oppo- 
site shore. Bounding up the bank, the injured 
man only stopping for an instant to pick up his 
spear, the band of howling blacks disappeared in 
the woods. 

Tom waited until the sound of their harsh voices 
had died away, and then he crept out of his hiding- 
place, so chilled and stiff that at first he could 
scarcely walk, but with a heart full of joy and 
thankfulness for the great escape he had made. 
He pushed along down the river, about as far as 
he thought he had come up, and then turned 
inland to look for his horse. It was now so dark 
in the woods that he could not see for any con- 
siderable distance, and after wandering about for 
some time, he began to fear that the animal had 
broken away and that he might yet be left in these 
lonely woods, to fall a victim to his black pursuers, 



who might return at any time, or to some other 
band of equally savage bushmen, who might come 
prowling in that direction. 

But suddenly he heard a whinny, not far from 
him, and hurrying toward the joyful sound, he 
found his horse, tied just as he had left him, and 
leaping on his back, dripping, shivering, and with- 
out a hat, he rode away, at full gallop, for the 
bridge, the happiest boy in all Australia ! 

No more short cuts for him, after sundown, in 
that wild part of the country ! 

He never heard whether the fellow who had had 
his foot stuck succeeded in catching the fellow who 
stuck it, or whether the blacks ever came back to 
look for the white boy who had disappeared in the 
river ; but he never ceased to believe that no one 
could have made a. more lucky stroke for him than 
that made by the blundering Australian savage. 

By Mrs. C. A. Wyckoff 

Jacky, Jacky, always naughty, 
Said unto himself one day, 

Guess I '11 make a jolly scarecrow 
Of my sister's dolly, — May." 

Down with eager steps he hurries 
Out into the glowing morn, 

Where the sun is brightly shining 
On the fields of springing corn. 

Then he ties poor Dolly safely 
To a pole in merry glee, — 

Such a pretty little scarecrow 
'T was a funny sight to see ! — 

Plants the pole down very firmly, 
Gazes at the cloudless sky, 




Laughs to think how it would frighten 
Every crow that circled nigh. 

Well content he is, and happy, 
Though pursued by unseen wrath, 

For behind comes uncle Arthur, 
Softly walking down the path. 

Uncle Arthur, shocked and awful ! 

Carried home the sister's pet. 
Jack went, too, in anxious silence ; — 

And the crows are laughing yet. 



6 93 


By Louisa M. Alcott. 

Chapter XV. 


SATURDAY was a busy and a happy time to Jack, 
for in the morning Mr. Acton came to see him, 
having heard the story overnight, and promised to 
keep Bob's secret while giving Jack an acquittal as 
public as the reprimand had been. Then he asked 
for the report which Jack had bravely received the 
day before and put away without showing to any- 
body. . 

"There is one mistake here which we must 
rectify," said Mr. Acton, as he crossed out the low 
figures under the word "Behavior," and put the 
much desired ioo there. 

"But I did break the rule, sir," said Jack, though 
his face glowed with pleasure, for Mamma was 
looking on. 

" I overlook that as I should your breaking into 
my house if you saw it was on fire. You ran to save 
a friend, and I wish I could tell those fellows why 
you were there. It would do them good. I am not 
going to praise you, John, but 1 did believe you in 
spite of appearances, and I am glad to have for a 
pupil a boy who loves his neighbor better than 

Then, having shaken hands heartily, Mr. Acton 
went away, and Jack flew off to have rejoicings with 
Jill, who sat up on her sofa, without knowing it, so 
eager was she to hear all about the call. 

In the afternoon, Jack drove his mother to the 
Captain's, confiding to her on the way what a hard 
time he had when he went before, and how nothing 
but the thought of cheering Bob kept him up when 
he slipped and hurt his knee, and his boot sprung 
a leak, and the wind came up very cold, and the hill 
seemed an endless mountain of mud and snow. 

Mrs. Minot had such a gentle way of putting 
things that she would have won over a much harder 
man than the strict old Captain, who heard the 
story with interest, and was much pleased with 
the boys' efforts to keep Bob straight. That young 
person dodged away into the barn with Jack, 
and only appeared at the last minute to shove a bag 
of chestnuts into the chaise. But he got a few 
kind words that did him good, from Mrs. Minot and 
the Captain, and from that day felt himself under 
bonds to behave well if he would keep their 

" I shall give Jill the nuts; and I wish I had 
something she wanted very, very much, for I do 

* Copyright, 1879, by Louisa 

think she ought to be rewarded for getting me out 
of the mess," said Jack, as they drove happily 
home again. 

" I hope to have something in a day or two that 
will delight her very much. I will say no more 
now, but keep my little secret and let it be a sur- 
prise to all by and by," answered his mother, look- 
ing as if she had not much doubt about the matter. 

"That will be jolly. You are welcome to your 
secret. Mamma. I 've had enough of them for one 
while," and Jack shrugged his broad shoulders as 
if a burden had been taken off. 

In the evening Ed came, and Jack was quite 
satisfied when he saw how pleased his friend was 
at what he had done. 

'• I never meant you should take so much trouble, 
only be kind to Bob," said Ed, who did not know 
how strong his influence was, nor what a sweet 
example of quiet well-doing his own life was to all 
his mates. 

"I wished to be really useful; not just to talk 
about it and do nothing. That isn't your way, 
and I want to be like you." answered Jack, with 
such affectionate sincerity that Ed could not help 
believing him, though he modestly declined the 
compliment by saying, as he began to play softly, 
"Better than I am, I hope. I don't amount to 

"Yes, you do ! and if any one says you don't I '11 
shake him. I can't tell what it is, only you always 
look so happy and contented — sort of sweet and 
shiny," said Jack, as he stroked the smooth brown 
head, rather at a loss to describe the unusually 
fresh and sunny expression of Ed's face, which was 
always cheerful, yet had a certain thoughtfulness 
that made it very attractive to both young and 

" Soap makes him shiny; I never saw such a 
fellow to wash and brush," put in Frank, as he came 
up with one of the pieces of music he and Ed were 
fond of practicing together. 

"I don't mean that!" said Jack, indignantly. 
" I wash and brush till you call me a dandy, but I 
don't have the same look — it seems to come from 
the inside, somehow, as if he was always jolly and 
clean and good in his mind, you know." 

" Born so," said Frank, rumbling away in the 
bass with a pair of hands that would have been the 
better for some of the above-mentioned soap, for 
he did not love to do much in the washing and 
brushing line. 

M. Alcott. All rights reserved. 




"I suppose that's it. Well, I like it, and I 
shall keep on trying, for being loved by every one 
is about the nicest thing in the world. Is n't it, 
Ed ? " asked Jack, with a gentle tweak of the ear 
as he put a question which he knew would get no 
answer, for Ed was so modest he could not see 
wherein he differed from other boys, nor believe 
that the sunshine he saw in other faces was only 
the reflection from his own. 

Sunday evening Mrs. Minot sat by the fire, plan- 
ning how she should tell some good news she had 
been saving up all day. Mrs. Pecq knew it, and 
seemed so delighted that she went about smiling 
as if she did not know what trouble meant, and 
could not do enough for the family. She was 
down-stairs now, seeing that the clothes were prop- 
erly prepared for the wash, so there was no one in 
the Bird-Room but Mamma and the children. 
Frank was reading up all he could find about some 
biblical hero mentioned in the day's sermon ; Jill 
lay where she had lain for nearly four long months, 
and though her face was pale and thin with the 
confinement, there was an expression on it now 
sweeter even than health. Jack sat on the rug beside 
her, looking at a while carnation through the magni- 
fying glass, while she was enjoying the perfume of a 
red one as she talked to him. 

" If you look at the white petals you'll see that 
they sparkle like marble, and go winding along 
way down to the middle of the flower where it grows 
sort of rosy ; and in among the small, curly leaves, 
like fringed curtains, you can see the little green 
fairy sitting all alone. Your mother showed me 
that, and I think it is very pretty. I call it a ' fairy,' 
but it is really where the seeds are hidden and the 
sweet smell comes from." 

Jill spoke softly lest she should disturb the 
others, and, as she turned to push up her pillow, 
she saw Mrs. Minot looking at her with a smile 
she did not understand. 

" Did you speak, 'm ? " she asked, smiling back 
again, without in the least knowing why. 

" No, dear. I was listening and thinking what 
a pretty little story one could make out of your 
fairy living alone down there, and only known by 
her perfume." 

" Tell it, Mamma. It is time for our story, and 
that would be a nice one, I guess," said Jack, who 
was as fond of stories as when he sat in his mother's 
lap and chuckled over the hero of the bean-stalk. 

" We don't have fairy tales on Sunday, you 
know." began Jill, regretfully. 

" Call it a parable, and have a moral to it, then 
it will be all right," put in Frank, as he shut his 
big book, having found what he wanted. 

" I like stories about saints, and the good and 
wonderful things they did," said Jill, who enjoyed 

the wise and interesting bits Mrs. Minot often 
found for her in grown-up books, for Jill had 
thoughtful times, and asked questions which 
showed that she was growing fast in mind if not in 

"This is a true story; but I will disguise it a 
little, and call it ' The Miracle of St. Lucy,' " began 
Mrs. Minot, seeing a way to tell her good news 
and amuse the children likewise. 

Frank retired to the easy chair, that he might 
sleep if the tale should prove too childish for him. 
Jill settled herself among her cushions, and Jack 
lay flat upon the rug, with his feet up, so that he 
could admire his red slippers and rest his knee, 
which ached. 

" Once upon a time there was a queen who had 
two princes " 

" Was n't there a princess?" asked Jack, inter- 
ested at once. 

" No; and it was a great sorrow to the queen 
that she had no little daughter, for the sons were 
growing up, and she was often very lonely." 

" Like Snowdrop's mother," whispered Jill. 

" Now, don't keep interrupting, children, or we 
never shall get on," said Frank, more anxious to 
hear about the boys that were than the girl that 
was not. 

" One day, when the princes were out, — ahem! 
— we '11 say hunting, — they found a little damsel 
lying on the snow, half dead with cold, they 
thought. She was the child of a poor woman who 
lived in the forest, — a wild little thing, always danc- 
ing and singing about : as hard to catch as a 
squirrel, and so fearless she would climb the high- 
est trees, leap broad brooks, or jump off the steep 
rocks to show her courage. The boys carried her 
home to the palace, and the queen was glad to 
have her. She had fallen and hurt herself, so she 
lay in bed week after week, with her mother to 
take care of her " 

" That 's you," whispered Jack, throwing the 
white carnation at Jill, and she threw back the red 
one, with her finger on her lips, for the tale was 
very interesting now. 

" She did not suffer much after a time, but she 
scolded and cried, and could not be resigned, 
because she was a prisoner. The queen tried to 
help her, but she could not do much ; the princes 
were kind, but they had their books and plays, and 
were away a good deal. Some friends she had 
came often to see her, but still she beat her wings 
against the bars, like a wild bird in a cage, and 
soon her spirits were all gone, and it was sad to 
see her." 

" Where was your St. Lucy ? I thought it was 
about her," asked Jack, who did not like to have 
Jill's past troubles dwelt upon, since his were not. 




" She is coming. Saints are not bom — they are 
made after many trials and tribulations," answered 
his mother, looking at the fire as if it helped her to 
spin her little story. " Well, the poor child used 
to sing sometimes to while away the long hours — 
sad songs mostly, and one among them which the 
queen taught her was ' Sweet Patience, Come.' 

" This she used to sing a great deal after a 
while, never dreaming that Patience was an angel 
who could hear and obey. But it was so; and one 
night, when the girl had lulled herself to sleep with 
that song, the angel came. Nobody saw the lovely 
spirit with tender eyes, and a voice that was like 
balm. No one heard the rustle of wings as she 
hovered over the little bed and touched the lips, 
the eyes, the hands of the sleeper, and then flew 
away, leaving three gifts behind. The girl did 
not know why, but after that night the songs grew 
gayer, there seemed to be more sunshine every- 
where her eyes looked, and her hands were never 
tired of helping others in various pretty, useful or 
pleasant ways. Slowly the wild bird ceased to 
beat against the bars, but sat in its cage and made 
music for all in the palace, till the queen could not 
do without it, the poor mother cheered up, and 
the princes called the girl their nightingale." 

"Was that the miracle?" asked Jack, forget- 
ting all about his slippers, as he watched Jill's 
eyes brighten and the color come up in her white 

" That was the miracle, and Patience can work 
far greater ones if you will let her." 

" And the girl's name was Lucy ? " 

"'Yes; they did not call her a saint then, but 
she was trying to be as cheerful as a certain good 
woman she had heard of, and so the queen had 
that name for her, though she did not let her know 
it for a long time." 

" That 's not bad for a Sunday story, but there 
might have been more about the princes, seems to 
me," was Frank's criticism, as Jill lay very still, 
trying to hide her face behind the carnation, for she 
had no words to tell how touched and pleased she 
was to find that her little efforts to be good had 
been seen, remembered, and now rewarded in this 

" There is more." 

" Then the story is n't done? " cried Jack. 

" Oh clear, no ; the most interesting things are 
to come, if you can wait for them." 

" Yes, I see, this is the moral part. Now keep 
still, and let us have the rest," commanded Frank, 
while the others composed themselves for the 
sequel, suspecting that it was rather nice, because 
Mamma's sober face changed, and her eyes laughed 
as they looked at the fire. 

" The elder prince was very fond of driving 

dragons, for the people of that country used these 
fiery monsters as horses." 

" And got run away with, did n't he ? " laughed 
Jack, adding, with great interest, " What did the 
other fellow do ? " 

" He went about fighting other people's battles, 
helping the poor, and trying to do good. But he 
lacked judgment, so he often got into trouble, and 
was in such a hurry that he did not always stop to 
find out the wisest way. As when he gave away his 
best coat to a beggar boy, instead of the old one 
which he intended to give." 

"I say, that is n't fair, Mother! Neither of 
them was new, and the boy needed the best 
more than I did, and I wore the old one all winter, 
didn't I? "-asked Jack, who had rather exulted 
over Frank, and was now taken down himself. 

" Yes, you did, my dear ; and it was not an easy 
thing for my dandiprat to do. Now listen, and 
I '11 teli you how they both learned to be wiser. 
The elder prince soon found that the big dragons 
were too much for him, and set about training 
his own little one, who now and then ran away 
with him. Its name was Will, a good servant, 
but a bad master ; so he learned to control it, and 
in time this gave him great power over himself, 
and fitted him to be a king over others." 

"Thank you, Mother; I '11 remember my part 
of the moral. Now give Jack his," said Frank, 
who liked the dragon episode, as he had been 
wrestling with his own of late, and found it hard 
to manage. 

" He had a fine example before him in a friend, 
and he followed it more reasonably till he grew 
able to use wisely one of the best and noblest 
gifts of God — benevolence." 

" Now tell about the girl. Was there more to 
that part of the story ? " asked Jack, well pleased 
with his moral, as it took Ed in likewise. 

"That is the best of all, but it seems as if I 
never should get to it. After Patience made Lucy 
sweet and cheerful, she began to have a curious 
power over those about her, and to work little 
miracles herself, though she did not know it. The 
queen learned to love her so dearly she could not 
let her go ; she cheered up all her friends when 
they came with their small troubles; the princes 
found bright eyes, willing hands and a kind heart 
always at their service, and felt, without quite 
knowing why, that it was good for them to have a 
gentle little creature to care for; so they softened 
their rough manners, loud voices and careless ways, 
for her sake, and when it was proposed to take her 
away to her own home they could not give her up, 
but said she must stay longer, did n't they ? " 

" I 'd like to see them saying anything else," said 
Frank, while Jack sat up to demand, fiercely : 

6 9 6 



" Who talks about taking Jill away ? " 
" Lucy's mother thought she ought to go, and 
said so, but the queen told her how much good it 
did them all to have her there, and begged the 
dear woman to let her little cottage and come and 
be housekeeper in the palace, for the queen was 
getting lazy, and liked to sit and read, and talk, and 
sew with Lucy, better than to look after things." 

"And she said she would?" cried Jill, clasping 
her hands in her anxiety, for she had learned to love 
her cage now. 

laughed more than ever as three astonished faces 
turned to her, and three voices cried out : 

" Still more?" 

"The very best of all. You must know that, 
while Lucy was busy for others, she was not for- 
gotten, and when she was expecting to lie on her 
bed through the summer, plans were being made 
for all sorts of pleasant changes. First of all, she 
was to have a nice little brace to support the back 
which was growing better every day ; then, as the 
warm weather came on, she was to go out, or 


" Yes ! " Mrs. Minot had no time to say more, 
for one of the red slippers flew up in the air, and 
Jack had to clap both hands over his mouth to 
suppress the " hurrah ! " that nearly escaped. 
Frank said, " That 's good ! " and nodded with his 
most cordial smile at Jill, who pulled herself up 
with cheeks now as rosy as the red carnation, and 
a little catch in her breath as she said to herself: 

" It 's too lovely to be true." 

" That 's a first-rate end to a very good story," 
began Jack, with grave decision, as he put on his 
slipper and sat up to pat Jill's hand, wishing it was 
not quite so like a little claw. 

" That 's not the end," and Mamma's eyes 

lie on the piazza; and by and by, when school 
was done, she was to go with the queen and the 
princes for a month or two down to the sea-side, 
where fresh air and salt water were to build her up 
in the most delightful way. There, now ! isn't that 
the best ending of all ? " and Mamma paused to read 
her answer in the bright faces of two of the listeners, 
for Jill hid hers in the pillow, and lay quite still, as 
if it was too much for her. 

"That will be regularly splendid! I '11 row you 
all about — boating is so much easier than riding, and 
I like it on salt water," said Frank, going to sit on 
the arm of the sofa, quite excited by the charms of 
the new plan. 




" And I '11 teach you to swim, and roll you over 
the beach, and get sea-weed and shells, and no end 
of nice things, and we'll all come home as strong 
as lions," added Jack, scrambling up as if about to 
set off at once. 

" The doctor says you have been doing finely of 
late, and the brace will come to-morrow, and the 
first really mild day you are to have a breath of 
fresh air. Wont that be good ? " asked Mrs. Minot, 
hoping her story had not been too interesting. 

"Is she crying?" said Jack, much concerned, 
as he patted the pillow in his most soothing way, 
while'Frank lifted one curl after another to see what 
was hidden underneath. 

Not tears, for two eyes sparkled behind the 
fingers, then the hands came down like clouds from 
before the sun, and Jill's face shone out so bright 
and happy it did one's heart good to see it. 

" I 'm not crying," she said, with a laugh which 
was fuller of blithe music than any song she sung. 
" But it was so splendid, it sort of took my breath 
away for a minute. I thought I was n't any bet- 
ter, and never should be, and I made up my mind 
I would n't ask, it would be so hard for any one to 
tell me so. Now I see why the doctor made me 
stand up and told me to get my baskets ready to 
go a-Maying. I thought he was in fun ; did he 
really mean I could go?" asked Jill, expecting too 
much, for a word of encouragement made her as 
hopeful as she had been despondent before. 

" No, dear, not so soon as that. It will be 
months, probably, before you can walk and run, 
as you used to; but they will soon pass. You 
need n't mind about May-day ; it is always too 
cold for flowers, and you will find more here among 
your own plants than on the hills, to fill your 
baskets," answered Mrs. Minot, hastening to sug- 
gest something pleasant to beguile the time of 

" I can wait. Months are not years, and if I 'm 
truly getting well, everything will seem beautiful 
and easy to me," said Jill, laying herself down 
again, with the patient look she had learned to 
wear, and gathering up the scattered carnations to 
enjoy their spicy breath, as if the fairies hidden 
there had taught her some of their sweet secrets. 

" Dear little girl, it has been a long, hard trial 
for you. but it is coming to an end, and I think 
you will find that it has not been time wasted. I 
don't want you to be a saint quite yet, but I am 
sure a gentler Jill will rise up from that sofa than 
the one who lay down there in December." 

"How could I help growing better, when vou 
were so good to me ? " cried Jill, putting up both 
arms, as Mrs. Minot went to take Frank's place, 
and he retired to the fire, there to stand surveying 
the scene with calm approval. 

Vol. VII.— 46. 

" You have done quite as much for us ; so we 
are even. I proved that to your mother, and she 
is going to let the little house and take care of the 
big one for me, while I borrow you to keep me 
happy and make the boys gentle and kind. That 
is the bargain, and we get the best of it," said Mrs. 
Minot, looking well pleased, while Jack added, 
"That 's so!" and Frank observed, with an air 
of conviction, "We could n't get on without Jill, 

" Can I do all that ? I did n't know I was of any 
use. I only tried to be good and grateful, for 
there did n't seem to be anything else I could do," 
said Jill, wondering why they were all so fond of 

"No real trying is ever in vain. It is like the 
spring rain, and flowers are sure to follow in good 
time. The three gifts Patience gave St. Lucy 
were courage, cheerfulness and love, and with 
these one can work the sweetest miracles in the 
world, as you see," and Mrs. Minot pointed to the 
pretty room and its happy inmates. 

" Am I really the least bit like that good Lucin- 
da? I tried to be, but I did n't think I was," 
asked Jill, softly. 

" You are very like her in all ways but one. 
She did not get well and you will." 

A short answer, but it satisfied Jill to her heart's 
core, and that night, when she lay in bed, she 
thought to herself: " How curious it is that I 've 
been a sort of missionary without knowing it ! 
They all love and thank me, and wont let me go, 
so I suppose I must have done something, but I 
don't know what, except trying to be good and 

That was the secret, and Jill found it out just when 
it was most grateful as a reward for past efforts, 
most helpful as an encouragement toward the con- 
stant well-doing which can make even a little girl 
a joy and comfort to all who know and love her. 

Chapter XVI. 


"Now fly 'round, child, and get your sweeping 
done up smart and early." 

" Yes, mother." 

" I shall want you to help me about the baking, 
by and by." 

" Yes, mother." 

" Roxy is cleaning the cellar-closets, so you'll 
have to get the vegetables ready for dinner. Father 
wants a boiled dish, and I shall be so busy I can't 
see to it." 

" Yes, mother." 

A cheerful voice gave the three answers, but it 

6 9 8 



cost Merry an effort to keep it 50, for she had 
certain little plans of her own which made the work 
before her unusually distasteful. Saturday always 
was a trying day, for, though she liked to see 
rooms in order, she hated to sweep, as no speck 
escaped Mrs. Grant's eye, and only the good old- 
fashioned broom, wielded by a pair of strong arms, 
was allowed. Baking was another trial : she loved 
good bread and delicate pastry, but did not enjoy 
burning her face over a hot stove, daubing her 
hands with dough, or spending hours rolling out 
cookies for the boys; while a "boiled dinner" 
was her especial horror, as it was not elegant, and 
the washing of vegetables was a job she always 
shirked when she could. 

However, having made up her mind to do her 
work without complaint, she ran upstairs to put 
on her dust-cap, trying to look as if sweeping was 
the joy of her life. 

" It is such a lovely day, I did want to rake my 
garden, and have a walk with Molly, and finish my 
book so I can get another," she said, with a sigh, as 
she leaned out of the open window for a breath of 
the unusually mild air. 

Down in the ten-acre lot the boys were carting 
and spreading loam; out in the barn her father 
was getting his plows ready ; over the hill rose 
the smoke of the distant factory, and the river that 
turned the wheels was gliding through the meadows, 
where soon the blackbirds would be singing. Old 
Bess pawed the ground, eager to be off; the gray 
hens were scratching busily all about the yard ; 
even the green things in the garden were pushing 
through the brown earth, softened by April rains, 
and there was a shimmer of sunshine over the wide 
landscape that made every familiar object beautiful 
with hints of spring, and the activity it brings. 

Something made the old nursery hymn come 
into Merry's head, and humming to herself — 

" In works of labor or of skill 
I would be busy too," 

she tied on her cap, shouldered her broom, and 
fell to work so energetically that she soon swept 
her way through the chambers, down the front 
stairs to the parlor door, leaving freshness and 
order behind her as she went. 

She always groaned when she entered that apart- 
ment, and got out of it again as soon as possible, 
for it was, like most country parlors, a prim and 
chilly place, with little beauty and no comfort. 
Black horse-hair furniture, very slippery and hard, 
stood against the wall ; the table had its gift-books, 
albums, worsted mat and ugly lamp ; the mantel- 
piece its china vases, pink shells and clock that 
never went; the gay carpet was kept distressingly 
bright by closed shutters six days out of the seven, 

and a general air of go-to-meeting solemnity per- 
vaded the room. Merry longed to make it pretty 
and pleasant, but her mother would allow of no 
change there, so the girl gave up her dreams of 
rugs and hangings, fine pictures and tasteful orna- 
ments, and dutifully aired, dusted and shut up this 
awful apartment once a week, privately resolving 
that, if she ever had a parlor of her own, it should 
not be as dismal as a tomb. 


The dining-room was a very different place, for 
here Merry had been allowed to do as she liked, 
yet so gradual had been the change, that she would 
have found it difficult to tell how it came about. 
It seemed to begin with the flowers, for her father 
kept his word about the " posy pots,." and got 
enough to make quite a little conservatory in the 
bay-window, which was sufficiently large for three 
rows all round, and hanging baskets overhead. 
Being discouraged by her first failure. Merry gave 
up trying to have things nice everywhere, and con- 
tented herself with making that one nook so pretty 
that the boys called it her "bower." Even busy 
Mrs. Grant owned that plants were not so messy as 
she expected, and the farmer was never tired of 
watching "little daughter" as she sat at work 
there, with her low chair, and table full of books. 

The lamp helped, also, for Merry set up her own, 
and kept it so well trimmed that it burned clear and 
bright, shining on the green arch of ivy overhead, 




and on the nasturtium vines framing the old glass, 
and peeping at their gay little faces and at the pret- 
ty young girl, so pleasantly that first her father came 
to read his paper by it, then her mother slipped in 
to rest on the ugly lounge in the corner, and finally 
the boys hovered about the door as if the " settin'- 
room " had grown more attractive than the kitchen. 

But the open fire did more than anything 
else to win and hold them all, as it seldom fails to 
do when the black demon of an air-tight stove is 
banished from the hearth. After the room was 
cleaned till it shone, Merry begged to have the 
brass andirons put in, and offered to keep them as 
bright as gold if her mother would consent. So the 
great logs were kindled, and the flames went danc- 
ing up the chimney as if glad to be set free from 
their prison. It changed the whole room like 
magic, and no one could resist the desire to enjoy 
its cheery comfort. The farmer's three-cornered 
leathern chair soon stood on one side, and mother's 
rocker on the other, as they toasted their feet and 
dozed or chatted in the pleasant warmth. 

The boys' slippers were always ready on the 
hearth ; and when the big boots were once off, they 
naturally settled down about the table, where the 
tall lamp, with its pretty shade of pressed autumn- 
leaves, burned brightly, and the books and papers 
lay ready to their hands instead of being tucked 
out of sight in the closet. They were beginning to 
see that " Merry's notions " had some sense in 
them, since they were made comfortable, and good- 
naturedly took some pains to please her in various 
ways. Tom brushed his hair and washed his 
hands nicely before he came to table. Dick tried 
to lower his boisterous laughter, and Harry never 
smoked in the sitting-room. Even Roxy expressed 
her pleasure in seeing "things kind of spruced 
up," and Merry's gentle treatment of the hard- 
working drudge won her heart entirely. 

The girl was thinking of these changes as she 
watered her flowers, dusted the furniture, and laid 
the fire ready for kindling; and, when all was done, 
she stood a minute to enjoy the pleasant room, full 
of spring sunshine, fresh air and exquisite order. 
It seemed to give her heart for more distasteful 
labors, and she fell to work at the pies as cheerfully 
as if she liked it. 

Mrs. Grant was flying about the kitchen, getting 
the loaves of brown and white bread ready for the 
big oven. Roxy's voice came up from the cellar 
singing " Bounding Billows," with a swashing and 
scrubbing accompaniment which suggested that 
she was actually enjoying a "life on the ocean 
wave." Merry, in her neat cap and apron, stood 
smiling over her work as she deftly rolled and 
clipped, filled and covered, finding a certain sort 
of pleasure in doing it well, and adding interest to 

it by crimping the crust, making pretty devices 
with strips of paste and star-shaped prickings of 
the fork. 

" Good will giveth skill," says the proverb, and 
even particular Mrs. Grant was satisfied when she 
paused to examine the pastry with her experienced 

" You are a handy child and a credit to your 
bringing up, though I do say it. Those are as 
pretty pies as I 'd wish to eat, if they bake well, 
and there 's no reason why they should n't." 

"May I make some tarts or rabbits of these 
bits ? The boys like them, and I enjoy modeling 
this sort of thing," said Merry, who was trying to 
mold a bird, as she had seen Ralph do with clay to 
amuse Jill while the bust was going on. 

" No, dear; there 's no time for knickknacks to- 
day. The beets ought to be on this minute. Run 
and get 'em, and be sure you scrape the carrots 

Poor Merry put away the delicate task she was 
just beginning to like, and taking a pan went 
down cellar, wishing vegetables could be grown 
without earth, for she hated to put her hands in 
dirty water. A word of praise to Roxy made that 
grateful scrubber leave her work to poke about in 
the root-cellar, choosing "seen as was pretty much 
of a muchness, else they would n't bile even"; so 
Merry was spared that part of the job, and went 
up to scrape and wash without complaint, since it 
was for father. She was repaid at noon by the 
relish with which he enjoyed his dinner, for Merry 
tried to make even a boiled dish pretty by arranging 
the beets, carrots, turnips and potatoes in contrast- 
ing colors, with the beef hidden under the cabbage 

" Now, I '11 rest and read for an hour, then I '11 
rake my garden, or run down town to see Molly 
and get some seeds," she thought to herself, as 
she put away the spoons and glasses, which she 
liked to wash, that they might always be clear and 

" If you \e done all your own mending, there 's 
a heap of socks to be looked over. Then I '11 
show you about darning the table-cloths. I do 
hate to have a stitch of work left over till Monday," 
said Mrs. Grant, who never took naps, and prided 
herself on sitting down to her needle at three P. M. 
every day. 

" Yes, mother," and Merry went slowly up- 
stairs, feeling that a part of Saturday ought to be 
a holiday after books and work all the week. As 
she braided up her hair, her eye fell upon the 
reflection of her own face in the glass. Not a 
happy nor a pretty one just then, and Merry was 
so unaccustomed to seeing any other, that invol- 
untarily the frown smoothed itself out, the eyes 




lost their weary look, the drooping lips curved into 
a smile, and, leaning her elbows on the bureau, she 
shook her head at herself, saying, half aloud, as 
she glanced at Ivanhoe lying near. 

" You need n't look so cross and ugly just 
because you can't have what you want. Sweep- 
ing, baking and darning are not so bad as being 
plagued with lovers and carried off and burnt at 
the stake, so I wont envy poor Rebecca her jewels 
and curls and romantic times, but make the best 
of ray own." 

Then she laughed, and the bright face came 
back into the mirror, looking like an old friend, 
and Merry went on dressing with care, for she took 
pleasure in her own little charms, and felt a sense 
of comfort in knowing that she could always have 
one pretty thing to look at if she kept her own 
face serene and sweet. It certainly looked so as it 
bent over the pile of big socks half an hour later, 
and brightened with each that was laid aside. 
Her mother saw it, and, guessing why such wistful 
glances went from clock to window, kindly short- 
ened the task of table-cloth darning by doing a 
good bit herself, before putting it into Merry's 

She was a good and loving mother in spite of 
her strict ways, and knew that it was better for 
her romantic daughter to be learning all the house- 
wifely lessons she could teach her, than to be 
reading novels, writing verses, or philandering 
about with her head full of girlish fancies, quite 
innocent in themselves, but not the stuff to live on. 
So she wisely taught the hands that preferred to 
pick flowers, trim up rooms and mold birds, to 
work well with needle, broom and rolling-pin ; 
put a receipt-book before the eyes that loved to 
laugh and weep over tender tales, and kept the 
young head and heart safe and happy with whole- 
some duties, useful studies, and such harmless 
pleasures as girls should love, instead of letting 
them waste their freshness in vague longings, idle 
dreams and frivolous pastimes. 

But it was often hard to thwart the docile child, 
and lately she had seemed to be growing up so 
fast that her mother began to feel a new sort of 
tenderness for this sweet daughter, who was almost 
ready to take upon herself the cares, as well as 
triumphs and delights, of maidenhood. Something 
in the droop of the brown head, and the quick 
motion of the busy hand with a little burn on it, 
made it difficult for Mrs. Grant to keep Merry at 
work that day, and her eye watched the clock 
almost as impatiently as the girl's, for she liked to 
see the young face brighten when the hour of 
release came. 

" What next ? " asked Merry, as the last stitch 
was set, and she stifled a sigh on hearing the clock 

strike four, for the sun was getting low, and the 
lovely afternoon going fast. 

" One more job, if you are not too tired for it. 
I want the receipt for diet drink Miss Dawes prom- 
ised me ; would you like to run down and get it for 
me, dear ? " 

" Yes, mother ! " and that answer was as blithe 
as a robin's chirp, for that was just where Merry 
wanted to go. 

Away went thimble and scissors, and in five 
minutes away went Merry, skipping down the hill 
without a care in the world, for a happy heart sat 
singing within, and everything seemed full of 

She had a capital time with Molly, called on Jill, 
did her shopping in the village, and had just 
turned to walk up the hill, when Ralph Evans 
came tramping along behind her, looking so 
pleased and proud about something that she could 
not help asking what it was, for they were great 
friends, and Merry thought that to be an artist was 
the most glorious career a man could choose. 

" I know you 've got some good news," she 
said, looking up at him as he touched his hat and 
fell into step with her, seeming more contented than 

" I have, and was just coming up to tell you, 
for I was sure you would be glad. It is only a 
hope, a chance, but it is so splendid I feel as if 
I must shout and dance, or fly over a fence or two, 
to let off steam." 

"Do tell me, quick; have you got an order?" 
asked Merry, full of interest at once, for artistic 
vicissitudes were very romantic, and she liked to 
hear about them. 

" I may go abroad in the autumn." 
"Oh, how lovely!" 

"Isn't it? David German is going to spend a 
year in Rome, to finish a statue, and wants me to 
go along. Grandma is willing, as cousin Maria 
wants her for a long visit, so everything looks 
promising and I really think I may go." 

" Wont it cost a great deal ? " asked Merry, who, 
in spite of her little elegancies, had a good deal of 
her thrifty mother's common sense. 

"Yes; and I've got to earn it. But I can — 
I know I can, for I 've saved some, and I shall work 
like ten beavers all summer. I wont borrow if I 
can help it, but I know some one who would lend 
me five hundred if I wanted it," and Ralph looked 
as eager and secure as if the earning of twice that 
sum was a mere trifle when all the longing of his 
life was put into his daily tasks. 

" I wish I had it to give you. It must be so 
splendid to feel that you can do great things if 
you only have the chance. And to travel, and see 
all the lovely pictures and statues, and people and 




places in Italy. How happy you must be!" and 
Merry's eyes had the wistful look they always wore 
when she dreamed dreams of the world she loved 
to live in. 

"I am — so happy that I'm afraid it never will 
happen. If I do go, I 'II write and tell you all about 
the fine sights, and how I get on. Would you like 
me to?" asked Ralph, beginning enthusiastically 
and ending rather bashfully, for he admired Merry 
very much, and was not quite sure how this pro- 
posal would be received. 

" Indeed 1 should ! I 'd feel so grand to have 
letters from Paris and Rome, and you 'd have so 
much to tell it would be almost as good as going 
myself," she said, looking off into the daffodil sky, 
as they paused a minute on the hill-top to get breath, 
for both had walked as fast as they talked. 

" And will you answer the letters? " asked Ralph, 
watching the innocent face, which looked unusually 
kind and beautiful to him in that soft light. 

"Why, yes; I'd love to, only I shall not have 
anything interesting to say. What can I write 
about?" and Merry smiled as she thought how 
flat her letters, would sound after the exciting details 
his would doubtless give. 

"Write about yourself, and all the rest of the 
people I know. Grandma will be gone, and I shall 
want to hear how you get on." Ralph looked very 
anxious indeed to hear, and Merry promised she 
would tell all about the other people, adding, as 
she turned from the evening peace and loveliness 
.to the house, whence came the clatter of milk-pans 
and the smell of cooking : 

" I never should have anything very nice to tell 
about myself, for I don't do interesting things as 
you do, and you would n't care to hear about 
school, and sewing, and messing 'round at home." 

Merry gave a disdainful little sniff at the savory 
perfume of ham which saluted them, and paused 
with her hand on the gate, as if she found it 
pleasanter out there than in the house. Ralph 
seemed to agree with her, for, leaning on the gate, 
he lingered to say, with real sympathy in his tone 
and something else in his face : 

"Yes, I should; so you write and tell me all 
about it. I did n't know you had any worries, for 
you always seemed like one of the happiest people 
in the world, with so many to pet and care for 
you, and plenty of money, and nothing very hard 
or hateful to do. You 'd think you were well off 
if you knew as much about poverty and work and 
never getting what you want, as I do." 

" You bear your worries so well that nobody 
knows you have them. I ought not to complain, 
and I wont, for I do have all I need. I 'm so glad 
you are going to get what you want at last," and 
Merry held out her hand to say good-night, with 

so much pleasure in her face that Ralph could not 
make up his mind to go just yet. 

" I shall have to scratch 'round in a lively way 
before I do get it, for David says a fellow can't 
live on less than four or five hundred a year, 
even living as poor artists have to, in garrets and 
on crusts. I don't mind as long as Grandma is 
all right. She is away to-night, or I should not be 
here," he added, as if some excuse was necessary. 

Merry needed no hint, for her tender heart was 
touched by the vision of her friend in a garret, and 
she suddenly rejoiced that there was ham and eggs 
for supper, so that he might be well fed once, at 
least, before he went away to feed on artistic 

" Being here, come in and spend the evening. 
The boys will like to hear the news, and so will 
father. Do, now." 

It was impossible to refuse the invitation he 
had been longing for, and in they went, to the 
great delight of Roxy, who instantly retired to the 
pantry, smiling significantly, and brought out the 
most elaborate pie in honor of the occasion. Merry 
touched up the table, and put a little vase of flowers 
in the middle to redeem the vulgarity of doughnuts. 
Of course the boys upset it, but as there was com- 
pany nothing was said, and Ralph devoured his 
supper with the appetite of a hungry boy, while 
watching Merry eat bread and cream out of an old- 
fashioned silver porringer, and thinking it the 
sweetest sight he ever beheld. 

Then the young people gathered about the table, 
full of the new plans, and the elders listened as 
they rested after the week's work. A pleasant 
evening, for they all liked Ralph, but as the parents 
watched Merry sitting among the great lads like a 
little queen among her subjects, half unconscious 
as yet of the power in her hands, they nodded to 
one another, and then shook their heads as if they 
said : 

" I 'm afraid the time is coming, mother." 

"No danger as long as she don't know it, 

At nine the boys went off to the barn, the farmer 
to wind up the eight-day clock, and the housewife 
to see how the baked beans and Indian pudding 
for to-morrow were getting on in the oven. Ralph 
took up his hat to go, saying, as he looked at the 
shade on the tall student-lamp : 

" What a good light that gives ! I can see it as 
I go home every night, and it burns up here like a 
beacon. I always look for it, and it hardly ever 
fails to be burning. Sort of cheers up the way, you 
know, when I 'm tired or low in my mind." 

" Then I 'm very glad I got it. I liked the shape, 
but the boys laughed at it as they did at my bul- 
rushes in a ginger-jar over there. I 'd been reading 




about ' household art,' and I thought I 'd try a little," 
answered Merry, laughing at her own whims. 

" You 've got a better sort of household art, I 
think, for you make people happy and places pretty, 
without fussing over it. This room is ever so much 
improved every time I come, though I hardly see 
what it is except the flowers," said Ralph, looking 
from the girl to the tall calla that bent its white cup 
above her as if to pour its dew upon her head. 

'" Is n't that lovely ? I tried to draw it — the shape 
was so graceful I wanted to keep it. But I could n't. 
Is n't it a pity such beautiful things wont last for- 
ever ? " and Merry looked regretfully at the half- 
faded one that grew beside the fresh blossom. 

" I can keep it for you. It would look well in 
plaster. May I ? " asked Ralph. 

"Thank you, I should like that very much. 
Take the real one as a model — please do ; there are 
more coming, and this will brighten up your room 
for a day or two." 

As she spoke, Merry cut the stem, and, adding 
two or three of the great green leaves, put the 
handsome flower in his hand with so much good- 
will that he felt as if he had received a very precious 
gift. Then he said good-night, so gratefully that 
Merry's hand quite tingled with the grasp of his, 
and went away, often looking backward through the 
darkness to where the light burned brightly on the 
hill-top — the beacon kindled by an unconscious 
Hero, for a young Leander swimming gallantly 
against wind and tide toward the goal of his 

(To be continued.) 


By Mrs. Annie A. Preston. 

A bluebird met a butterfly, 

One lovely summer day, 
And sweetly lisped, " I like your dress, 

It 's very bright and gay." 
There was n't any butterfly 

When bluebird flew away ! 

Our black cat met that shy bluebird 

When going for a walk, 
And mewed, " My charming, singing friend, 

Let 's have a quiet talk." 
But there was n't any bluebird 

When puss resumed her walk ! 


By William E. Griffis. 

The Japanese pay great attention to rank and 
etiquette. They have thirty-one grades of rank, 
and the ambition of every noble and gentleman is 
to get one step higher, and higher yet. Very few, 
indeed, ever reach as high as the third or second 
rank, and none reach the first till after their 

They make a great fuss about their dress, for 
every rank has a special costume. A reception at 
the court of the emperor, called the Mikado, is a 
wonderful scene of rustling silk robes of every 
imaginable color and design of embroidery. A 

Japanese dandy is prouder of his flowing sleeves 
and trails than a peacock of its feathers. 

This exquisite in the picture is of the fifth rank, 
and is dressed all in hemp. The long silky fibers 
of this plant, in Japan, are the finest in the world, 
and when woven into cloth, and dyed blue or 
green, it resembles satin. A tremendous amount of 
starch is used to stiffen it. When ready to put on, 
it is like sheet-iron. You may imagine how the 
dandy in the picture feels in this strait-jacket. 
When he walks, it rustles like ten old ladies in 
black silk, or a breeze in a row of poplar-trees. 




But he doesn't walk. He waddles. A goose could 
go more gracefully. American ladies have one 
trail to their skirts; this dandy has two. In some 
cases his loose trousers trail two feet behind him. 


When he sits down — which he does on his knees 
and heels — he will need four feet square to spread 
himself upon. 

The reason is this : In Europe, when you are 
presented to the king, or kiss the queen's hand, 
you must walk out backward, so as to show your 
face, not back, to royalty. So, in Japan, at the 
Mikado's court, it was not proper to let the feet be 
seen. The people take off their sandals, and tread 

the soft matting in their stocking-feet; the long 
trains covering the feet. 

You can imagine how hard it is to waddle grace- 
fully forward and then backward, without falling 
on your nose. I warrant, 
the nobleman in the picture 
had practiced well before he 
risked the disgrace of a 
tumble at court. 

Out-of-doors, the Jap- 
anese gentlemen always 
wore two swords, one short, 
the other long. In-doors, 
or on ceremony, only the 
short one remained, and 
was stuck in the center of 
the girdle, with the gold 
and silk-wrapped hilt where 
it could show best. The 
wearer is more proud of 
a handsome and costly 
sword than a New York 
dandy is of watch and chain, 
or scarf-pin. The cap on 
his head, which looks like a 
trowel without a handle, or 
a triangular piece of pie- 
crust, or a brick-bat, is 
made of black, varnished 
paper. It is held on by 
his top-knot, and a white 
silk string 'round his neck. 
It also marks his rank. 
The middle of his scalp is 
shaved according to fash- 
ion. On his sleeve and 
breast the crest or coat- 
of-arms of his family is 

He is not extreme in 
fashion. Nobles of higher 
rank wear a still longer trail 
from their coat, and I have 
seen Japanese high lords 
with ten feet of gold and 
silver laced satin dragging after them. This was 
in-doors, at court, of course. In the streets, I 
have seen them in gold-embroidered satin long and 
loose enough to cover a horse all over nearly to his 
knees. The horse and the rider looked like one 
animal, — a pyramid of silk on four legs, topped by 
a black brick. These fashions in dress and swords 
have now passed away. The Mikado and his 
nobles dress like gentlemen in Europe and America. 





By Wm. M. F. Round. 

PEDRO is a dog, to begin with ; so, if any reader 
thinks this story is to be about an emperor, or 
even a Portuguese grandee, and wishes to read 
that kind of a story, and is n't willing to read just 
an every-day kind of a dog-story, he had better pass 
by this article altogether. 

Pedro began life under difficulties. His mother 
did not move in good society. It may have been 
on account of her color, for she was very black. 
It may have been on account of her education — for 
she had n't any worth speaking of. It may have 
been because her mother or her mother's mother 
or grandmother, or ever so many great-grand- 
mothers, did n't go into good society. They were 
a very common family of clogs, who would lick the 
bones they ate, and make a noise with their mouths 
when they drank. 

Pedro was born in a barn ; that was against him. 
And it was a rag-dealer's barn at that, and his first 
bed was a pile of very smelly rags, and as his mother 
had five other little dogs of exactly his age to look 
after, she could n't wash and dress him properly, or 
tie his tail up in papers to make it curl gracefully, 

that he thought that was what boys and stones 
and cords were for. But Pedro's mother, poor 
thing, she knew what it all meant. She knew 
that of all the diseases incident to puppyhood, boys 
and stones, complicated with cords, was the most 
fatal. Pedro's mother had lost seventeen of her 
darlings in a similar way. Talk about scarlet 
fever, or the croup, or diphtheria after that ! She 
kissed her precious children, moaned over them a 
little, and when they were taken away in a basket, 
was so overcome that she had n't even strength 
enough to lift her drooping tail and wag them a 

The boy took the basket to a bridge, and lifting 
the puppies one by one, sent them over the parapet 
— down — down to an anchorage at the bottom of 
the river. Pedro did n't like it. It made him 
dizzy going down ; the weight of the stone made 
the cord cut his neck, and the water was cold. He 
went straight to the bottom, and would have 
drowned there like the rest if the cord had been 
stronger. But the cord broke. Pedro found out 
that he could swim — and he made for the shore. 
He was very cold, very wet, very much 
discouraged. He did not like to go back 
where that speckled-faced boy was; be- 
sides, he did n't know the way. So he 
made up his mind that he would set up 
for a tramp ; — and started at once on his 

He was a little fellow, but he grew — r 
grew in spite of the kicks and cuffs that 
he met, in spite of the stonings that bad 

or do any of those things that well-bred 
dog-mothers are in the habit of doing 
for their dog-babies, 

Pedro opened his eyes one morning 
and looked about him. What do you 
think he saw ? A big boy with a basket 
and, six stones in it. The boy took a stone and 
began tying it to Pedro's neck with a piece of 
cord. He did the same thing to all of Pedro's 
brothers and sisters. Did Pedro think it strange? 
Not a bit of it — he was so young and ignorant 

boys gave him, in spite 
Grew to be a big, black, 

of being only half fed. 
shaggy dog, with a kind 

eye, and one of the most friendly and wagiferous 
tails I ever knew. And could n't he swim ? He 
just ploughed right along in the water, steering 




himself with his shaggy tail, and winking and 
blinking at the waves, that in the sunlight winked 
and blinked at him. 

But he had no home — poor dog. He slept in 
the by-ways and hedges, and dropped in at wagon- 
sheds and crept under road-side carts, and some- 
times he had to sleep in the great broad fields 
among the clover and the daisies. He wanted a 
home badly enough — every dog does. But nobody 
would take him in. He used to get driven off 
of premises with sticks and whips and 
stones. Nobody seemed to want him, and 
he would have looked upon this world as 
a very hard world on dogs had he not 
seen, now and then, some boys and girls 
that were treated quite as badly as he was. 

So things went on for two years. It 
was the close of summer. The golden-rod 
had begun to blossom on the road-sides, 
and Pedro knew that frost would be along 
ere many weeks. He was in a sea-side 
town, for he loved the ocean, and he 
sat down on the beach to think him- 
self over. He was getting to be 
shiftless. He would wear burrs in 
his shaggy coat for days and days, 
and when a dog gets to this point of 
shiftlessness he must either turn over 
a new leaf, or go to the bad pretty 
rapidly. He did not want to get 
into low-lived ways. He was a dog 
of excellent intentions regarding him- 
self — but it somehow seemed to him 
that he had had no kind of a chance 
in life. He almost wished that the 
stone had n't slipped off his neck 
when he had been thrown over the 
bridge. He came very near being in 
despair. The horrid thought crossed his mind to 
go and bite somebody in the village and get shot 
for mad. It takes so little trouble for a dog to 
put himself out of misery in this way. I think he 
would have gone and thrown himself off the 
bridge, but that he knew what an excellent swim- 
mer he was, and that it would be of no use. 

He was getting almost miserable, when a 
gentleman passed by who seemed so well fed, so 
well contented with himself and the world, and so 
happy, that Pedro really cheered up, and wished 
that he had such a man for a master ; and when a 
little behind him came a well-combed, well-kept 
little blue skye-terrier, whom this gentleman- spoke 
gently to — even tenderly, Pedro yearned to get up 
and adopt the gentleman for a master at once. 
But he hardly dared to do it. He knew that that 
little blue skye-terrier would fiercely resent such a 
familiar proceeding. Perhaps, however, the gentle- 

man might be willing to give him just a second- 
hand bone, and a far-off corner of a stable to sleep 
in for a night or two. That much he would try, at 
any rate. So he rose up, and followed the gentle- 


man and the blue skye-terrier at a little distance. 
Once the blue skye caught sight of him, and turned 
and gave him a fierce look, as if surmising his in- 
tentions, and then curled up his aristocratic little 
black nose and trotted on, as if, after all, such a 
matter was quite beneath his notice. 

The gentleman at last walked home, and Pedro 
stood at the garden gate and saw them go in. 
They had such a welcome, especially the little blue 
skye-terrier. Two pretty children came out to 
meet him, one was a boy of ten years or so, and 
the other a young lady of fifteen. The young 
lady caught up the terrier and embraced him, and 
even kissed him, and talked softly to him, and 
carried him off at last into the house, where a 




saucer of milk and dainty bits of cold chicken were 
awaiting him. That Pedro knew, for he heard 
the little boy tell him that much. 

" My !" said Pedro, "if they give him chicken 
and milk, they surely can't grudge me a bone," — 
and so saying, he pushed open a gate and trotted 
straight across an elegant flower-bed, and round 
the house to the kitchen door. There was a bone, 
to be sure, and a very meaty bone too. Of course 
the little dog inside would n't want it, and of 
course nobody would object to his having it — it 
was evident that it had been thrown away, and so 
Pedro first sniffed at it, by way of whetting his appe- 
tite, and then fell to, and began to gnaw blissfully ; 
it was about as good a bone as Pedro had ever 
had. He had almost forgotten his misery, and 
was beginning to feel that the world was n't such a 
bad world after all, when the kitchen door was 
flung open by a red-faced Irish cook, who bounced 
out with a pan of dirty water and flung it into 
Pedro's face and eyes, saying angrily, as she did 

"Go 'long wid ye, yer great black feller of a 
dawg. You 're a thavin' baste to come eating 
poor Blitzen's " (Blitzen was the skye's name, it 
seems) "bone. Get out wid ye ! " and she seized a 
broomstick, and flew at Pedro like a fury. 

Pedro was surprised; he hung his tail with mor- 
tification and shame and turned to leave, when 
out flew Blitzen, barking and yelling, and seized 
him by the heels. Pedro might have shaken the 
life out of Blitzen in a minute, but he always prided 
himself upon never turning upon a dog smaller 
than himself, — he only started to run, with Blitzen 
at his heels. He had nearly reached the gate, 
when out rushed the benign gentleman, with a 
thick cane, and said : 

" Oh, you low-bred mongrel cur, I '11 teach you 
to run across my flower-beds ! How came you out 
of the pound, you miserable scamp?" and coming 
up to Pedro he dealt him such a succession of 
blows as made him stagger, and left him half-blind 
with pain. 

At last Pedro reached the gate, which fortu- 
nately had been left open, and, darting into the 
street, he freed himself from the yelping Blitzen, and 
ran as hard as he could toward the beach. He 
had a very bitter feeling in his heart. He was not 
conscious of having done any harm, and vet every- 
body and everything had turned against him. 
Surely it was a hard world. 

He lay down on the beach, and began looking 
himself over. He was bruised from the tip of his 
nose to the tip of his tail. One of his eyes was 
half-closed. His heel was smarting where Blitzen 
had bitten him, and he was dripping with the 
cook's dirty water. He had n't energy enough to 

wash himself and dress his wounds. He just lay 
there and moaned. What was he, anyway ? An 
outcast from puppyhood, homeless, hungry, all 
his brothers and sisters drowned, and everybody, 
dog and man, beating him. He wondered how 
long it would take him to lie there and die. He 
made up his mind that he would never move on, — 
one place was as good as another. He could n't 
even solace himself by a swim, because the water 
was salt, and would give him pain where he was 
bitten and bruised. So he just stayed still, forlorn, 
and hating himself and everything and everybody. 
He had lain there for hours, and seen the tide 
come up, and people go walking along the beach. 
Nobody even noticed him, except one boy, who 
flung a pebble-stone at him, and then laughed 
because he gave a cry of pain. 

It got to be afternoon, and, as the tide was high, 
people came out to bathe. Presently he saw the 
boy and the young lady from the house where he had 
been so badly treated. They had Blitzen with them, 
and a servant who brought towels and bathing 
suits, and a silk cushion. The first thing they all 
did was to see that Blitzen had his bath. How 
carefully they bathed him, and then dried him on 
fine towels, and then the servant put down the 
cushion in a warm nook, and spreading a soft 
towel over it, put Blitzen down for a nap. Then 
the children prepared to bathe. They came out 
of the bath-house all dressed for the sea, and a 
very lovely couple they looked as they dimpled 
the smooth sand of the beach with their pretty 
pink feet.' They plunged into the surf, and had a 
glorious time of it. The boy could swim, and he 
was trying to teach his sister. Pedro almost 
enjoyed seeing them, in spite of himself. They 
had been in quite a good while, when the servant 
called them to come out. 

•' All right," shouted the boy ; " Florence may 
go out, and I '11 take one more swim and then I 'II 
come." So he turned his face toward the horizon 
and struck out boldly, and made glorious headway 
against the waves. He was pretty far out, when 
there was a cry, he threw up his hands, and the 
golden head disappeared beneath the waves. 

Pedro was on his feet in a moment, and had run 
half-way down the beach. The boy was drowning. 
He had heard that same kind of a cry once 
before. He would plunge in and save the boy. 
That was his first thought. Then he stopped. 
"No," he said, "I'll have my revenge. That, 
boy's father ill-treated me — his dog bit me ; let the 
little cur save him — it is no business of mine," and 
he turned to go up the beach again. 

" Help ! help !" came from the water. The 
sister heard it, and ran out of the bathing-house, 
followed by the servant. They screamed, too, for 




help, but no help was at hand. The pretty sunny 
head came in sight once more, and was gone. The 
women wrung their hands in agony. Pedro could 
not stand it — he turned, plunged down the beach, 
in through the surf, out on the rising and fall- 
ing waves, battling them furiously, as he swam. 
Now there are two heads side by side — a 
black, shaggy head, a sunny head and a pale 
face. There is no cry now, the poor little 
blanched lips are too weak for that. Pedro 
gives a little moan of desperation, seizes the 
bathing-jacket by the neck, and turns. Will 
he have strength 
to get this heavy 
weight to the 
shore? He feels 
his strength is 
going fast. The 
father has heard 
the cry of his 
daughter, and is 
flying to the 
beach. Blitzen 
has waked and 
stands staring, 
wondering what 
it all means. 

One wave near- 
er shore, now on 
the crest of an- 
other, now in the 
surf, now on the 
white beach! Pe- 
dro drags the boy 
up on the sand, 
and lies down be- 
side him. He is 
almost exhaust- 
ed. They don't 

drive him away now. Perhaps they hardly notice 
him in this awful moment. They are working 
over the boy. Oh, the blanched face of the 
father, and the tearful face of the sister ! The 
servant has run for blankets. They are rubbing 
the child and trying to detect some signs of life. 

Now the mother comes — she sees her boy lying 
there stiff and pale — and gives a quick cry of pain, 
and then stoops over him and puts her hand anx- 
iously on his heart. Yes — yes — it beats, but so 
feebly ! In a minute it may stop. She clasps the 
little hands and prays — oh, how she prays ! 

Yes, he 's alive ; he 's opening his eyes. Pedro 
is rested a little, and comes and looks on, 
while they wrap the boy in a blanket, and then 
he says to himself: '• Well, I can't do anything 
more. I guess I '11 be going ; " and he goes and 

touches the little hand with his tongue to be sure 
there is some life there, and turns to go away. 

What is this we see? Yes; a strong man falling 
on this dog's neck and kissing his shaggy head, 


while the great tears roil down his cheeks; — a pair 
of fair young arms thrown about poor Pedro's black 
and dripping body, while a rare pale face buries 
itself in his shaggy fur and weeps for joy. Pedro 
is an outcast no longer ! The sunshine is coming 
in upon his life now. It came through doing a 
simple duty, as most sunshine conies. 

Pedro has a home now. No bed is too- soft for 
him, — no food too choice ! He might have the 
whole roast off the table any day he chose to ask 
for it. He wears a silver collar, and he sleeps in 
the family sitting-room, and they pet him, and talk 
to him, and sometimes the gentleman whom he fol- 
lowed that morning will lay his hand on his head, 
and tears will fall on the black fur, and the dog will 
hear him say, in a voice that trembles a good deal : 
" God bless our Pedro, that saved my boy ! " 




By Lucretia P. Hale. 

Elizabeth Eliza joined the Circumambient 
Club with the idea that it would be a long time 
before she, a new member, would have to read a 
paper. She would have time to hear the other pa- 
pers read, and to see how it was done, and she would 
find it easy when her turn came. By that time 
she would have some ideas ; and long before she 
would be called upon, she would have leisure 
to sit down and write out something. But a year 
passed away, and the time was drawing near. She 
had, meanwhile, devoted herself to her studies, and 
had tried to inform herself on all subjects by way 
of preparation. She had consulted one of the old 
members of the club, as to the choice of a subject. 

"Oh, write about anything," was the answer; 
" anything you have been thinking of." 

Elizabeth Eliza was forced to say she had not 
been thinking lately. She had not had time. 
The family had moved, and there was always an 
excitement about something, that prevented her 
sitting down to think. 

"Why not write out your family adventures? " 
asked the old member. 

Elizabeth Eliza was sure her mother would think 
it made them too public, and most of the club 
papers she observed had some thought in them ; 
she preferred to find an idea. 

So she set herself to the occupation of thinking. 
She went out on the piazza to think; she stayed in 
the house to think. She tried a corner of the 
china-closet. She tried thinking in the cars, and 
lost her pocket-book; she tried it in the garden, 
and walked into the strawberry bed. In the house 
and out of the house, it seemed to be the same — she 
could not think of anything to think of. For many 
weeks she was seen sitting on the sofa or in the 
window, and nobody disturbed her. "She is think- 
ing about her paper," the family would say, but she 
only knew that she could not think of anything. 

Agamemnon told her that many writers waited 
till the last moment, when inspiration came, which 
was much finer than anything studied. Elizabeth 
Eliza thought it would be terrible to wait till the 
last moment, if the inspiration should not come ! 
She might combine the two ways ; wait till a few 
days before the last, and then sit down and write 
anyhow. This would give a chance for inspiration, 
while she would not run the risk of writing nothing. 

She was much discouraged ; perhaps she had 
better give it up. But no ; everybody wrote a pa- 
per, if not now, she would have to do it some time ! 

And at last the idea of a subject came to her ! 
But it was as hard to find a moment to write as to 
think. The morning was noisy, till the little boys 
had gone to school, for they had begun again upon 
their regular course, with the plan of taking up the 
study of cider in October. And after the little 
boys had gone to school, now it was one thing, now 
it was another ; the china-closet to be cleaned, or 
one of the neighbors in to look at the sewing- 
machine. She tried after dinner, but would fall 
asleep. She felt that evening would be the true 
time, after the cares of day were over. 

The Peterkins had wire mosquito-nets all over 
the house, at every door and every window. They 
were as eager to keep out the flies as the mosqui- 
toes. The doors were all furnished with strong 
springs, that pulled the doors to as soon as they 
were opened. The little boys had practiced run- 
ning in and out of each door, and slamming it after 
them. This made a good deal of noise, for they 
had gained great success in making one door slam 
directly after another, and at times would keep up 
a running volley of artillery, as they called it, with 
the slamming of the doors. Mr. Peterkin, however, 
preferred it to flies. 

So Elizabeth Eliza felt she would venture to write 
of a summer evening with all the windows open. 

She seated herself one evening in the library, 
between two large kerosene lamps, with paper, pen 
and ink before her. It was a beautiful night, with 
the smell of the roses coming in through the mos- 
quito-nets, and just the faintest odor of kerosene 
by her side. She began upon her work. But what 
was her dismay ! She found herself immediately 
surrounded with mosquitoes. They attacked her 
at every point. They fell upon her hand as she 
moved it to the inkstand ; they hovered, buzzing, 
over her head ; they planted themselves under the 
lace of her sleeve. If she moved her left hand to 
frighten them off from one point, another band 
fixed themselves upon her right hand. Not 
only did they flutter and sting, but they sang in a 
heathenish manner, distracting her attention as she 
tried to write, as she tried to waft them off. Nor 
was this all. Myriads of June-bugs and millers 
hovered round, flung themselves into the lamps, 
and made disagreeable funeral pyres of themselves, 
tumbling noisily on her paper in their last un- 
pleasant agonies. Occasionally one darted with a 
. rush toward Elizabeth Eliza's head. 

If there was anything Elizabeth Eliza had a terror 




of, it was a June-bug. She had heard that they had 
a tendency to get into the hair. One had been 
caught in the hair of a friend of hers, who had long, 
luxuriant hair. But the legs of the June-bug were 
caught in it like fish-hooks, and it had to be cut 
out, and the June-bug was only extricated by sacri- 
ficing large masses of the flowing locks. 

Elizabeth Eliza flung her handkerchief over her 
head. Could she sacrifice what hair she had to the 
claims of literature ? She gave a cry of dismay. 

The little boys rushed in a moment to the rescue. 
They flapped newspapers, flung sofa-cushions, they 
offered to stand by her side with fly-whisks, that 
she might be free to write. But the struggle was 
too exciting for her, and the flying insects seemed 
to increase. Moths of every description, large 
brown moths, small, delicate white millers whirled 
about her, while the irritating hum of the mosquito 
kept on more than ever. Mr. Peterkin and the 
rest of the family came in, to inquire about the 
trouble. It was discovered that each of the little 
boys had been standing in the opening of a wire- 
door for some time, watching to see when Elizabeth 
Eliza would have made her preparations and would 
begin to write. Countless numbers of dor-bugs 
and winged creatures of every description had 
taken occasion to come in. It was found that they 
were in every part of the house. 

" We might open all the blinds and screens," 
suggested Agamemnon, "and make a vigorous on- 
slaught and drive them all out at once." 

" I do believe there are more inside than out, 
now," said Solomon John. 

"The wire-nets, of course," said Agamemnon, 
"keep them in now." 

" We might go outside," proposed Solomon John, 
" and drive in all that are left. Then to-morrow 
morning, when they are all torpid, kill them, and 
make collections of them." 

Agamemnon had a tent which he had provided 
in case he should ever go to the Adirondacks, and 
he proposed using it for the night. The little boys 
were wild for this. 

Mrs. Peterkin thought she and Elizabeth Eliza 
would prefer trying to sleep in the house. But 
perhaps Elizabeth Eliza would go on with her paper 
with more comfort out of doors. 

A student's lamp was carried out, and she was 
established on the steps of the back piazza, while 
screens were all carefully closed to prevent the 
mosquitoes and insects from flying out. But it was 
of no use. There were outside still swarms of 
winged creatures that plunged themselves about 
her, and she had not been there long before a huge 
miller flung himself into the lamp, and put it out. 
She gave up for the evening. 

Still the paper went on. "How fortunate!" 

exclaimed Elizabeth Eliza, " that I did not put it 
off till the last evening ! " Having once begun, she 
persevered in it at every odd moment of the day. 
Agamemnon presented her with a volume of " Syn- 
onyms," which was of great service to her. She 
read her paper, in its various stages, to Agamemnon 
first, for his criticism, then to her father in the 
library, then to Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin together, 
next to Solomon John, and afterward to the whole 
family assembled. She was almost glad that the 
lady from Philadelphia was not in town, as she 
wished it to be her own unaided production. She 
declined all invitations for the week before the night 
of the club, and on the very day she kept her room, 
with eau sucre, that she might save her voice. 
Solomon John provided her with Brown's Bron- 
chial Troches when the evening came, and Mrs. 
Peterkin advised a handkerchief over her head, in 
case of June-bugs. It was, however, a cool night. 
Agamemnon escorted her to the house. 

The club met at Ann Maria Bromwich's. No 
gentlemen were admitted to the regular meetings. 
There were what Solomon John called " occa- 
sional annual meetings," to which they were invited, 
when all the choicest papers of the year were re-read. 

Elizabeth Eliza was placed at the head of the 
room, at a small table, with a brilliant gas jet on 
one side. It was so cool the windows could be closed. 
Mrs. Peterkin, as a guest, sat in the front row. 
. This was her paper, as Elizabeth Eliza read it, 
for she frequently inserted fresh expressions : 

"The Sun. 

" It is impossible that much can be known about 
it. This is why we have taken it up as a subject. 
We mean the sun, that lights us by day, and leaves 
us by night. In the first place, it is so far off. No 
measuring tapes could reach it, and both the earth 
and the sun are moving about so, that it would be 
difficult to adjust ladders to reach it, if we could. 
Of course, people have written about it, and there 
are those who have told us how many miles off it is. 
But it is a very large number, with a great many 
figures in it, and though it is taught in most, if not 
all, of our public schools, it is a chance if any one of 
the scholars remembers exactly how much it is. 

" It is the same with its size. We cannot, as we 
have said, reach it by ladders to measure it, and if 
we did reach it, we should have no measuring tapes 
large enough, and those that shut up with springs 
are difficult to use in a high place. We are told, 
it is true, in a great many of the school-books, the 
size of the sun; but, again, very few of those who 
have learned the number have been able to 
remember it after they have recited it, even if they 
remembered it then. And almost all of the scholars 
have lost their school-books, or have neglected to 




carry them home, and so they are not able to refer 
to them. I mean after leaving school. I must say 
that is the case with me, I should say with us, 
though it was different. The older ones gave their 
school-books to the younger ones, who took them 
back to school to lose them, or who have destroyed 
them when there were no younger ones to go to 
school. I should say there are such families. 
What I mean is, the fact that, in some families, 
there are no younger children to take off the school- 
books. But, even then, they are put away on upper 
shelves in closets or in attics, and seldom found if 
wanted — if then, dusty. 

" Of course we all know of a class of persons called 
astronomers, who might be able to give us informa- 
tion on the subject in hand, and who probably do 
furnish what information is found in school-books. 
It should be observed, however, that these astrono- 
mers carry on their observations always in the night. 
Now, it is well known that the sun does not shine in 
thenight. Indeed, that is one of the peculiarities of 
the night, that there is no sun to light us, so we have 
to go to bed as long as there is nothing else we can 
do without its light, unless we use lamps, gas or 
kerosene, which is very well for the evening, but 
would be expensive all night long; the same with 
candles. How, then, can we depend upon their 
statements, if not made from their own observa- 
tion? I mean, if they never saw the sun. 

" We cannot expect that astronomers should give 
us any valuable information with regard to the sun, 
which they never see, their occupation compelling 
them to be up at night. It is quite likely that they 
never see it. For we should not expect them to 
sit up all day as well as all night, as, under such 
circumstances, their lives would not last long. 

" Indeed, we are told that their name is taken 
from the woriaster, which means ' star,' the word is 
'aster — know — more.' This, doubtless, means 
that they know more about the stars than other 
things. We see, therefore, that their knowledge is 
confined to the stars, and we cannot trust what they 
have to tell us of the sun. 

"There are other asters which should not be 
mixed up with these, — we mean those growing by 
the way-side in the fall of the year. The astrono- 
mers, from their nocturnal habits, can scarcely be 
acquainted with them ; but, as it does not come 
within our province, we will not inquire. 

" We are left, then, to seek our own information 
about the sun. But we are met with a difficulty. 
To know a thing, we must look at it. How can 
we look at the sun ? It is so very bright that our 
eyes are dazzled in gazing upon it. We have to 
turn away, or they would be put out, — the sight, I 
mean. It is true, we might use smoked glass, but 
that is apt to come off on the nose. How, then, if 

we cannot look at it, can we find out about it? 
The noonday would seem to be the better hour, 
when it is the sunniest; but, besides injuring the 
eyes, it is painful to the neck to look up for a long 
time. It is easy to say that our examination of 
this heavenly body should take place at sunrise, 
when we could look at it more on a level, without 
having to endanger the spine. But how many 
people are up at sunrise ? Those who get up 
early do it because they are compelled to, and 
have something else to do than look at the sun. 

" The milk-man goes forth to carry the daily 
milk, the ice-man to leave the daily ice. But either 
of these would be afraid of exposing their vehicles to 
the heating orb of day, — the milk-man afraid of 
turning the milk, the ice-man timorous of melting 
his ice, — and they probably avoid those directions 
where they shall meet the sun's rays. The student, 
who might inform us, has been burning the mid- 
night oil. The student is not in the mood to 
consider the early sun. 

"There remains to us the evening, also, — the 
leisure hour of the day. But, alas ! our houses are 
not built with an adaptation to this subject. They 
are seldom made to look toward the sunset. A 
careful inquiry and close observation, such as have 
been called for in preparation of this paper, have 
developed the fact that not a single house in this 
town faces the sunset! There may be windows 
looking that way, but, in such a case, there is 
always a barn between. I can testify to this from 
personal observations, because, with my brothers, 
we have walked through the several streets of this 
town with note-books, carefully noting every house 
looking upon the sunset, and have found none 
from which the sunset could be studied. Sometimes 
it was the next house, sometimes a row of houses, 
or its own wood-house, that stood in the way. 

" Of course, a study of the sun might be pursued 
out-of-doors. But, in summer, sun-stroke would be 
likely to follow; in winter, neuralgia and cold. And 
how could you consult your books, your diction- 
aries, your encyclopedias? There seems to be no 
hour of the day for studying the sun. You might 
go to the East to see it at its rising, or to the 
West to gaze upon its setting, but — you don't." 

Here Elizabeth Eliza came to a pause. She had 
written five different endings, and had brought 
them all, thinking, when the moment came, she 
would choose one of them. She was pausing to 
select one, and inadvertently said, to close the 
phrase, "you don't." She had not meant to use 
the expression, which she would not have thought 
sufficiently imposing, — it dropped out uncon- 
sciously, — but it was received as a close with 
rapturous applause. 




She had read slowly, and now that the audi- 
ence applauded at such a length, she had time to 
feel she was much exhausted and glad of an end. 
Why not stop there, though there were some 
pages more ? Applause, too, was heard from the 
outside. Some of the gentlemen had come, — Mr. 

Peterkin, Agamemnon and Solomon John, with 
others, — and demanded admission. 

" Since it is all over, let them in," said Ann 
Maria Bromwich. 

Elizabeth Eliza assented, and rose to shake hands 
with her applauding friends. 

By R. E. Francillon. 


[It is quite common in Europe for children to earn their living by serving as models to painters. They will sit or stand all day if allowed 
to have an occasional resting-time. Our older boys and girls will enjoy Mr. Francillon's suggestive verses; but the younger ones, perhaps, 
will be more interested in knowing that these two little Italians really acted as models for Mr. Sheppard, who drew their pictures for St. 
Nicholas. — The Editor.] 

This is a painter's work-room. See 
The sitters' throne of rushes, 

The metal box behind, where he, 
The painter, keeps his brushes. 

The little pair of mortals here, 
For Tuscan landscape fitting — 

These are his models, not, I fear, 
Of patience while they 're sitting. 




They 've sat for hours — three weary whiles- 

With limbs for frolic aching, 
And naught but stolen, quick-sent smiles 

To ease such picture-making. 

A French chateau, an English hall, 

A cataract from Norway — 
They 'd rather see that water-fall 

Come tumbling through the door-way ! 

What 's Art to them? what's e'en its name 

To Tina, here, and Beppo ? 
Though here 's the Atlantic in a frame, 

A desert from Aleppo ; 

The painter does his utmost part 
To reach to glory's stature: 

These sit, 'mid all the strain of Art, 
Two little scraps of Nature: 



And never heed, nor dream, nor care 
That, when their picture made is, 

They 'II be held worthy of the stare 
Of critics, lords and ladies ; 

Who now would pass them by, as if, 
Till painted, nothing matters — 

So much of glory Art can give 
To Nature's rags and tatters ! 

Not less their picture's good to greet 
Because 't is all so common : 

He eats — she likes to see him eat, 
Like grown-up man and woman. 

Between their eyes, the colors blent 
Around the walls grow fainter, 

Till love, the pure and innocent, 
Becomes their portrait-painter. 

He sees but her: she sees but him: 
And, though he '11 clean forget her 

When Change and Growth her picture dim, 
They '11 never paint a better. 

Perhaps — who knows ? — small Beppo there 
Will catch from paint and plaster 

The inspiration of the air, 

And grow, himself, a master : 

Perhaps — But who can read ' mayhap ' ? 

And who can fathom ' whether ' ? 
If I could buy a wishing-cap 

I 'd wish them kept together, 

As pure in heart, in thought, in eye, 

As simple in their story, 
As if there were no Art to try 

To thrust them into glory. 

I 'd wish this love to last them still, 
Our grown-up hearts reproving — 

To take all else that Heaven may wil 
So that it leaves them loving. 

By Mary Wager Fisher. 

"MOTHER, mother, why does Miss Scott wear 
those horrid green goggles?" asked twelve-year- 
old Tom Dixon one summer's day, after the 
departure of that lady from a visit to his mother. 

" Because her eyes are very sensitive to the 
light. She is nearly blind, my child." 

"And what made her so, mamma? Was she 
always so blind ? " 

"No; she had as bright and as good eyes as 
you have, Tommy, when she was six years old." 

" But what put 'em out, mother?" pursued the 
eager boy. 

" Fire-crackers." 

" Fire-crackers ? How funny ! " 

" Close your eyes, Tom, so that you can't see. 
There, do you find it 'funny'?" asked his mother. 

"No; I — I did n't mean funny. May be I 
meant queer. Any way, how did fire-crackers do 
it, mother? " 

" It was on a Fourth of July. A boy in the 
street wanted to ' frighten the little girl,' — so he 
said, — and he threw a lighted bunch of fire-crackers 
at her. They exploded in her face and eyes. And 

Vol. VII. —47. 

now, the doctor says that at the end of another 
year she will be entirely blind, and can never, 
never again see the sunshine, nor anything." 

Tom sat with a scared and solemn look on his 
little face. He could imagine nothing so terrible 
as to be blind. 

"That was an awful, abominable thing to do; 
was it not, mamma ? " 

" Most abominable, indeed," she replied, smil- 
ing to herself at Tommy's large word. 

" And what did they do to the boy, mamma ? " 

" I never knew, Tom, that anything was done 
to him. His father, I believe, paid quite a sum of 
money to Mr. Scott to pay doctors' bills, for the 
little girl was for a long time under the care of an 
oculist, which is a person who treats diseases of the 
eye. But the boy's family soon after moved away, 
and it was said to be on his account, for he was 
never happy after that. Every time that he saw 
Susy Scott, with her scarred face and her eyes shut 
in behind green glasses, and felt that he was the 
cause of it all, he could not bear it. Then, too, 
the boys and girls at school taunted him with it. 




After he left the village I heard nothing more of 
him. I dare say that he never again wanted to 
see, or hear, a fire-cracker." 

Now Tommy, only the day before, had been 
teasing his papa for a supply of fire-crackers for 
the coming "Fourth," which was little more than 
a week off, and this story of Susy Scott was mak- 
ing his busy brain think of what it had never 
thought of before. And when a boy thinks, he 
asks questions. 

" Mamma, did you ever hear of fire-crackers 
hurting anybody else ? " he asked. 

"Yes; a great many people. A fine, large, 
beautiful city in the State of Maine was destroyed 
some years ago by a fire kindled by a fire-cracker, 
and hundreds of people had their homes and all 
they possessed burned up. Suppose, Tom, that 
we look at your papa's files of daily papers and see 
if we can find a list of the accidents caused by fire- 
crackers on the Fourth of July last year in the city," 
for the family lived in a little village not far from 

So upstairs went Tom and his mother, to the 
very top of the house, where the papa had a large 
room with books and great piles of newspapers 
and magazines. Finally, they found the Philadel- 
phia Daily Trumpet for July, 1878. 

" Now, we will look in the paper of July 5th," 
said the mother. " Here they are, — ' Fourth of 
July Casualties,' " and Mrs. Dixon glanced down the 
long list of shot, burned, maimed, bruised persons 
with broken bones and broken heads, all resulting 
from Fourth of July powder. But as they were 
chiefly interested in fire-crackers, — those little red- 
coated, long-tailed powder-barrels that the Chinese 
so deftly make, — his mother said: 

" I will make a skip, hop and jump down the 
line, Tommy, to read what the fire-crackers did, 
and you can follow me with your two ears. First : 

" ' A boy had his hands badly burnt. 

" ' A horse frightened, ran away — wagon broken 
— a man thrown out and his arm broken. 

"'Another runaway — driver's shoulder dislo- 

"'A child frightened, and, while running ex- 
citedly across the street, was run over by a horse 
and wagon and horribly mangled. 

" ' A girl's dress set on fire ; girl badly burned. 

"'Another runaway. Lady thrown from her 
carriage — taken up for dead — carried to a hospital 
— life despaired of. 

" ' Another boy burnt about the face — disfigured 
probably for life. 

"'A young woman burnt to death. A fire- 
cracker thrown at her feet set her light clothing 
on fire, and in a moment she was in flames. 
She died, two hours later, in great agony.'" 

At this point Mrs. Dixon glanced at Tom. He 
sat with his face white as a sheet, his great black 
eyes shining wide with horror. 

" I think I 've read enough, Tommy," said his 

"And as much bad happened in all the other 
large cities as in Philadelphia?" asked the boy. 

" Yes; and in some places much more. If all 
the accidents in the whole country from fire- 
crackers on the Fourth of July were put together, 
they would make a large book. Then, too, you 
must remember that many sick and nervous people 
are made worse by the noise and excitement, and 
sometimes die because of it. Don't you think it 
very strange, Tom, that boys are always wanting 
fire-crackers for the Fourth of July ? " 

" Did n't you ever hear of fire-crackers doing 
anybody good, mamma ? " asked Tommy, not 
heeding his mother's question. 

" Never, Tom." 

Then Tom thought deeply for a moment. 

" Do you s'pose, mamma, that anybody could 
have a regular Fourth of July without fire- 
crackers ? " 

" Certainly, Tommy, I think so. It seems to 
me a very stupid way for American boys to cele- 
brate the independence of their country by touch- 
ing off Chinese powder. They ought to have wit 
enough to invent something themselves, — some- 
thing more American, and that will not be a 
nuisance. What would you think of using fire- 
crackers on Christmas?" 

" That would be funny ! " laughed the boy. 

" But there are boys and girls," said his mother, 
" who would think Christmas a very poor Christ- 
mas without fire-crackers. At least, they did a 
few years ago, in some of the southern cities. But 
for a great many years after the Fourth of July 
was born, nobody celebrated the day with fire- 
crackers. They came into fashion because mer- 
chants could buy them very cheaply from the 
Chinese, and could make a great deal of money by 
bringing them to this country and selling them to 
American boys to make a noise with. And I 'm 
afraid that some boys, if they could, would trade 
their heads for a noise machine. But you see, 
Tommy, that the Fourth of July lived a good many 
years without the fire-crackers, and the boys and 
girls had just as fine a time then as now, and 
nobody hurt with powder." 

" I should n't think that children's fathers-es and 
mothers-es would let them have fire-crackers," 
observed Tommy, shrewdly. 

"Neither should I," laughed his mother. "I 
wonder why they do ? I wish you would ask the 
boys that you know, how it happens." 

And Tom began that very day. 




As he was going to the post-office for the mail, he 
met two of his schoolmates, Jack Thompson and 
Frank Jones, and they began at once to talk about 
the Fourth. 

" Father 's going to give me seventy-five cents to 
buy fire-crackers," said Jack, "and Frank's going 
to have a lot, and Jim Barnes and Kit Lawson 's 
going to put their funds into torpedoes, "--and he 
said " funds " as though they had a million or two 
of dollars to spend. " And what '11 you contribute, 
Tom ? We 're all going to meet in the square and 
make things zip. There '11 be a regular swell time, 
you better believe." 

" What makes your fathers-es give you money to 
buy fire-crackers ? " asked Tom. 

"Buy fire-crackers? And the Fourth o' July 
coming?" exclaimed Jack, in astonishment. " You 
don't know what you 're talking about, Tom Dixon ! 
Why, a Fourth o' July without fire-crackers would 
be like a — a — a — " 

" Yes, it would," added Frank, gravely, but 
with a twinkle in his merry brown eyes. " We 
should never survive it ! " at which the boys roared 
with laughter. 

" But who ever heard of a Fourth o' July without 
crackers ? " persisted Jack. 

" I have," said Tom, a little proudly. 

" And I, too," remarked a voice behind them. 
" If you '11 come over with me to the square, boys, 
and sit awhile on the bench, I '11 tell you all 
about it." 

The speaker was good old Squire Lewis, who, 
the boys thought, was the oldest man in the 
world. He was eighty-six, and he remembered 
very well when the boys and girls he knew, who 
celebrated the Fourth of July, had never heard of 
fire-crackers. And after telling the boys about 
this, he went on to tell them how the day was cele- 
brated when he was a boy — of the picnics in the 
woods — how the prettiest girl was dressed as a 
goddess of liberty, and the smartest boy delivered 
an oration ; how they had flags and drums and a 
fife, and shouted and hurrahed until they were tired 
and hoarse, and glad enough, when night came, 
to tumble off into bed, and wait until next day to 
think what a jolly, jolly time they had had. And 
nobody was scared to death, nor burnt with pow- 
der. "We thought there had been enough peo- 
ple peppered with powder in the Revolutionary 
war; and why should we burn up any more in 
celebrating our victory ? " concluded the Squire, 
looking at each of the three boys inquiringly. 

"I'm down on fire-crackers and powder," said 
Tom, stoutly, rising to his feet and stuffing his 
hands in the side pockets of his linen coat. " That 's 
the way Miss Scott got her eyes hurt," and he 
related how it happened. 

This sad story, as Tom told it, seemed to make 
quite an impression upon the boys, although Jack 
contended that a boy must be a "born fool" to 
throw a bunch of lighted fire-crackers at a little 
girl in that way. 

But Tom did not stop with the Scott story. He 
stood in front of the bench and repeated all he could 
remember of what his mother had told him and read 
to him out of the last year's newspaper in the 
morning, and then the boys remembered having 
heard of the young woman who was burned to 
death by her dress having been set in a blaze by 
a fire-cracker. 

Then, for a long time for boys, — fully a quarter 
of a minute, — nobody said anything. At last, Tom 
said : 

" Say, s'posin' we get up a Union League on the 
cracker question ? " 

"A new Declaration of Independence," ob- 
served Frank, with a laugh. 

" Very good ! very good ! " said Squire Lewis, 
thumping with his cane on the bench for applause. 
" Independence from China, this time ! " with more 

"But what '11 we do with our funds?" asked 
Jack, financially. 

" Put 'em into ice cream," said Frank, and then, 
as if catching at a brand-new idea, he hopped up 
and stood by Tom. "I '11 tell you what ! Let 's 
say nothing to our folks about it, only make sure 
of our money — the money for the fire-crackers, 
you know. Then let 's take that cash and give a 
Fourth of July ice-cream party and invite the — the 

"But where 'd we have it?" asked Jack, who 
was always seeing lions in the way. 

" Let me fix that," said the old Squire. "You 
invite your girls and order your ice cream, and 
come around to my house on the morning of the 
Fourth, — say half a dozen of you. Trust me that 
you '11 have the best Fourth of July that ever you 
had. And I '11 keep your secret, boys." 

" And where '11 we get our half-dozen ? All the 
other boys '11 want to have fire-crackers. They '11 
never give them up. You '11 see." Of course it 
was Doubting Jack who said that. 

" Call a mass meeting of the boys ! " said Tom. 
"That 's the way big folks do. Get the boys to- 
gether, say, to-morrow afternoon. We can meet 
behind papa's carriage house. Nobody '11 hear us 
talk there." 

"And we'll have Tom, here, to be our Daniel 
Webster of the meeting," said the ever-ready 
Frank. " He can tell 'em what he got off to-day 
to us about fire-crackers, and that we propose to 
strike out in a new line this year and use our fire- 
cracker and torpedo money for something else, 




and that every boy who wants to join us can do so, 
by twisting our two thumbs and putting his Fourth 
of July money into our bag. Then we '11 'point a 
committee, and there 's where we '11 get our half- 
dozen. I know as many as eight boys who I 'm 
pretty sure will join." 

"Exactly," said Tom, as if feeling sure that 
Frank's argument was a " clincher." Then, after 
some further arrangements for the "mass meet- 
ing," and more encouraging words from old Squire 
Lewis, the boys separated, and Tom. remembering 
that he had left home to go to the post-office, ran 
off at full speed. 

To tell the story of the next few days would take 
too long. The mass meeting was quite a success, 
and Tom's speech sounded better than ever. Most 
of the boys agreed to the new plan ; they were 
willing to try it for once, at least, to see how it 
would go ; for no boy, however full of life and fun, 
takes pleasure in doing what causes harm, and 
often great suffering. No really manly boy, I 
mean — only the cowards do that. A manly and 
truly brave boy always has a tender heart, and is 
thoughtful, too. Several of the boys who did not 
join the League that day, joined 'afterward in time 
for the " Fourth." 

The "Fourth" was a lovely day, as it proved, 
and the " committee," with Squire Lewis, ar- 
ranged chairs and tables under the wide-spreading 
apple trees in his garden. This "committee" 
proved to be a very wonderful committee, for, 
after it began to think, it thought of a great many 
things, — of begging bouquets from the ladies of 
the village, of wheedling mothers and sisters into 
baking sponge cakes for an affair that must be 
kept a profound secret, and Mrs. Dixon was waited 
upon to know if she would kindly train ten boys to 

sing some patriotic pieces, for Tom could play the 
organ, you see. So, when the day came, the time 
had been so well improved that the committee had 
everything "just splendid," as the girls said — . 
flowers and music and everything. Tom had his 
organ there, and the boys sang really very well ; 
at all events, they made a respectable noise and 
were loudly cheered, and the cake and ice cream 
were all right. 

The girls, who were invited to come to Squire 
Lewis's garden gate at four o'clock P. M., were 
half afraid of a hoax, and were " dying" to know 
what it all meant. But when the flag went up in 
the garden, the secret of the week began to leak 
out, and a very nice secret everybody thought it, 
too. The " fathers-es " and " mothers-es," as Tom 
respectfully called the parents, declared it was the 
most respectable " Fourth " they had ever known. 
And when they came to know about the Anti-Fire- 
cracker League, then every one declared that in 
future they would double the young folks' Fourth 
of July money as long as they put it to such a 
charming use. 

And that was the way Tom's reform began. 
This coming " Fourth," the Anti-Fire-cracker- 
League-Fourth-of-July party is expected to be a 
great deal better than the one of last year. 

It will be held in the large garden of the 
Dixons' house, for good old Squire Lewis is no 
longer alive to invite the boys to his garden. 
One of the last things he talked about was that 
Fourth of July party. He was glad that he had 
lived to see it, and by his will he gave a five- 
dollar gold piece each to Tom Dixon, Frank 
Jones and Jack Thompson. 

But I don't think Jack deserved his so much 
as did the others. Do you ? 




By Laura Ledyard. 

Oh, turn about, turn about, whirly me jig ! 
And what will my little one be when he 's big ? 
Now, how many buttons has baby to show? 
For this is the way baby's fortune to know. 

A rich man — a poor man — a beggar — a thief — 
A doctor — a lawyer — a merchant — a chief; 
Oho ! what a great one my baby might be 
If only he boasted eight buttons, you see ! 

And seven would make him a merchant — but 

no ! 
My baby has not seven buttons to show ! 

He '11 not be a lawyer — I cannot find six, 
Nor five ! Now I 'm frightened. Four would 
be a fix ! 

Because, if it should be, he could be a thief, 
But no — he's not four, even. What a relief! 
And now if a beggar my baby should be, 
I '11 count — buthe wont, for he cannot show three! 

A poor man? Well, well, — can it really be true ? 
My poor pinned-in darling has not even two ! 
A rich man, perhaps, — but the child has n't one, — 
Of fortunes and buttons my baby has none ! 

But baby and I, — why, we don't care a feather, 
The buttons and fortunes will all come together. 

7 i8 




By Geo. J. Varney. 

The river that forms the outlet of Lake Cham- 
plain has many names, taken from the towns 
through which it passes; and various book-makers 
have chosen different ones, so that confusion must 
often arise in the minds of hasty readers. For 
convenience, I will call it Sorcl j and the readers 
of St. Nicholas can readily find out from the 
map what must be the others. 

In the parish of Chambly, which lies south-east 
of Montreal, the Sorel widens to a broad basin, 
with pleasant islands, and just above are rapids. 
Another point of interest at this place is the old 
fort, or castle, on the west bank of the river. It was 
built by the French, in 171 1, when " Queen Anne's 
war" was raging between England and France. 
But the interest which my readers will find in it 
must come chiefly from the fact that, in the Revo- 
lution, the inhabitants of the parish of Chambly, 
joining our patriot forefathers, captured their own 
fort from its British garrison, and gave it into 
possession of the Federal government. 

Some of these very Canadians were with our 
army when it took possession of Montreal, and 
accompanied the Federal forces down the St. Law- 
rence to join in the siege of Quebec. Had not our 
army received this aid, it must have rolled back 
in disaster from the strong position of the British 
at St. John's, and never have gained possession 
of the St. Lawrence, and the control of the lakes. 
It will be my pleasant duty to tell the story of 

this brilliant campaign, and of the brief career of 
its hero, the noble young Irishman, General 

Richard Montgomery was born in the north of 
Ireland, of respectable parents, in 1737, entering 
the army when he was fifteen years of age. As a 
youth, he was virtuous and studious ; and these, 
with other good qualities, caused his early promo- 
tion. In 1757 he served, under the celebrated 
General Wolfe, against the French in Nova Scotia 
and Louisburg, and thus became acquainted with 
America. Being unjustly refused promotion, he 
sold the commission of captain which he held, 
and, in January, 1773, came to New York to make 
his home in the New World. Thus the unfriend- 
liness of the government lost Great Britain a noble 
soldier, and what she- lost America gained. In 
the following July he married the eldest daughter 
of Judge Robert R. Livingston, and, abandoning 
all purpose of a military life, he devoted himself 
to agricultural pursuits. Fixing upon Rhinebeck 
as his residence, he built there a mill, stocked a 
farm, and laid the foundations of a new house. 

With every prospect of happiness, his mind was 
ever tinged with melancholy ; and he would often 
say: " My happiness is not lasting, but yet let us 
enjoy it as long as we may, and leave the rest to 

Thus the Revolution found him. On receiving 
his appointment of brigadier-general, he reluct- 




antly bade adieu to his "quiet life," — " perhaps 
forever," he said; "but the will of an oppressed 
people, compelled to choose between liberty and 
slavery, must be obeyed." Soothing the fears of 
his wife for his safety by cheerfulness and humor, 
he parted from her, finally, at Saratoga, with the 
words : " You will never have cause to blush for 
your Montgomery." 

Joining his chief, Major-General Schuyler, at 
Ticonderoga, he never ceased to urge an advance. 
Having such a capable second, Schuyler, who was 
old and infirm, left to him the charge of the army, 
and, abandoning the camp, sought his needful ease 
at Saratoga. 

Montgomery disliked this inaction, and desired 
of his superior instructions to advance. " Moving 
without your orders," says he in one of his messages, 
"I do not like; but the prevention of the enemy 
is of the utmost consequence ; for if he gets his 
vessels into the lake, it is over with us for the present 

He therefore went forward down LakeChamplain 
with twelve hundred men ; but, by reason of head 
winds and rain, it was the 4th of September when 
they reached Isle aux Noix, in the Sorel. 

The next day, a declaration of friendship was 
circulated among the inhabitants; and, on the 6th, 
the army, under the lead of General Schuyler (who 
had now overtaken it), advanced against St. John's. 

Alarmed by a slight attack which had been ensily 
repulsed by Montgomery, Schuyler ordered a re- 
treat; and without having made even a reconnois- 
sance of the fort, he led his troops back to Isle aux 

Here he was soon confined to his bed by illness, 
and everything went wrong. At length, Mont- 
gomery entreated permission to retrieve the late 
disasters ; and Schuyler set out in a covered boat 
for Ticonderoga, " relinquishing with regret, but 
without envy, to the gallant young Irishman the 
conduct, the danger and the glory of the 

The day after his departure, Montgomery moved 
the army against St. John's, arriving on the 17th 
of September. The next morning he led a corps 
of five hundred men to the north side of the fort, 
falling in with a detachment of the garrison, which, 
after a brief skirmish, retreated into the fort. He 
next established an intrenched camp of three hun- 
dred men at the junction of the roads to Montreal 
and Chambly, thus cutting off communications 
between St. John's and its supporting posts. 

The bold and restless Ethan Allen, the captor of 
Ticonderoga, had attached himself to the army as 
a volunteer. To make his activity useful to the 
cause, Montgomery sent him with thirty men to 
La Prairie, a parish lying between St. John's and 

* Garneau's Hist, of 

Montreal, to associate with the inhabitants, in order 
to secure their friendship, and induce them to join 
the American standard. Having speedily obtained 
about fifty recruits, and, dazzled by vanity from his 
former success, without consulting his commander 
he attempted to surprise Montreal, but was himself 
defeated and captured by the British. 

As the Americans had a very slight stock of 
ammunition, no assault upon St. John's could be 
attempted, and the hope of forcing the garrison to 
surrender from want of provisions was fading away. 
The weather was cold and rainy, and the ground in 
the camps became very wet, so that there was 
much sickness. The men were ill-tempered, and 
so rebellious that, when the general would have 
erected a battery nearer the fort, it was manifest 
his orders would not be obeyed. 

" I did not consider," said he, " that I was at the 
head of troops who carried the spirit of freedom 
into the field, and think for themselves." 

Yet the confidence of the men in their leader 
steadily grew. A little later, the battery was 
erected, and with the co-operation of those who had 
at first opposed it. The sick, the wounded, and 
even deserters, passing home, praised him at every 
halt upon their way. 

But adversities and delays added greatly to his 
weariness and anxiety. 

" The master of Hindostan," he writes, " could 
not recompense me for this summer's work; I have 
envied every wounded man who has so good an 
apology for retiring from a scene where no credit 
can be obtained. O fortunate husbandman ! would 
I were at my plough again." 

But difficulties only bring out the resources ot a 
courageous mind. It was so with Montgomery. 

One James Livingston, a native of New York, 
who had resided in Canada for some time, was very 
popular with the inhabitants ; and, at the request of 
the general, he made use of his influence to raise a 
company of Canadian troops. General Carlton, 
the British governor of Canada, had hoped to suc- 
cor St. John's by arming the rural population ; but 
nearly the whole militia of the district refused to 
march at his command. 

The inhabitants of the parish of Chambly soon 
gave in their adhesion to the American cause, and 
sent messengers into other parishes to induce them 
to do likewise. Livingston had soon recruited some 
hundreds of those, of whom he was made major; 
and the capture of the fort of Chambly was imme- 
diately planned by the Canadians, who were familiar 
with the place.* 

Artillery was placed in bateaux, which, during a 
dark night, were run down the river past the fort at 
St. John's, andlandedatthehead of Chambly rapids, 
where it was mounted on wheels and taken to the 

Canada, vol. 2, p. 133. 




point of attack. The force consisted of three 
hundred Canadians under Major Livingston, accom- 
panied by fifty Federalists under Major Brown. 
The fort was firmly built of stone, was well sup- 
plied with cannon, and garrisoned by a detachment 
of the Royal Fusileers under Major Stopford. The 
Chamblv villagers joined their countrymen under 
Livingston; and on the 18th of October, after a 
siege of a day and a half, the fort, with its walls 
unbroken and its stores unharmed, was surren- 
dered to the patriots. 

The prisoners, one hundred and sixty-eight in 
number, were marched to Connecticut, and the 
fort was garrisoned by the Americans. In it were 
found seventeen cannon, a hundred and twenty- 
four barrels of powder, with abundant other ammu- 
nition, and a great stock of provisions. 

The powder and cannon enabled Montgomery to 
press the siege of St. John's with vigor. When 
General Carlton heard at Montreal of the success 
of the patriots, he perceived that the Sorel could 
be saved only by his taking the field against the 
Americans. He accordingly ordered Colonel Mc- 
Lean from Quebec to St. John's, with three hundred 
militia; and, on the 31st, he himself set out to join 
him with a force of eight hundred men. Colonel 
Seth Warner, with three hundred Green Mount- 
ain boys, met and defeated him on the shore of the 
St. Lawrence. 

At the same time McLean, moving up the Sorel, 
found the bridges broken down, and the inhabitants 
preparing to resist him ; and he retreated, perforce, 
to the mouth of the river. Towards evening of the 
day of Carlton's repulse, Colonel Warner reached 
St. John's with his prisoners. Montgomery imme- 
diately sent a flag of truce to the fort, informing 
the commandant of the defeat of his chief, and 
demanding the surrender of the fortress to prevent 
further effusion of blood. The commandant 
requested four days for consideration, but it was 
refused. There was no alternative ; so, on the 
3d of November, after a siege of six weeks, St. 
John's surrendered. According to terms granted 
out of respect to their bravery, the garrison, con- 
sisting of five hundred British regulars and one 
hundred Canadians, marched out with the honors 
of war, and stacked their arms on the neighboring 

The cold season was beginning, and the raw 
troops, weary of the privations of the field, and 
yearning for home, clamored to be dismissed, for 
the term of enlistment of many had already 

expired. Having gained possession of the Sorel, 
they at first refused to go a step further ; but the 
patriotic zeal, the kindness and the winning 
eloquence of Montgomery prevailed with them, 
and all but a small garrison left at St. John's 
pressed on to Montreal. 

On the 1 2th of November, the patriot army took 
unopposed possession of the town, the people declar- 
ing themselves sympathizers in the American cause. 
McLean had already retreated toward Quebec, and 
Colonel Easton, of the Massachusetts militia, occu- 
pied a position at the mouth of the Sorel com- 
manding the St. Lawrence ; and the British fleet, 
consisting of eleven sail of vessels, with General 
Prescott and one hundred and twenty-six regulars, 
fell into the hands of Montgomery. General 
Carlton, disguised as a villager, got into a row- 
boat and dropped down the river in the night, 
and thus escaped. 

In the midst of his successes, our hero, no less than 
his soldiers, longed to return to his family, his 
books, and the pleasant occupations of the farm. 
He earnestly entreated General Schuyler to pass 
the winter in Montreal, adding : " I am weary of 
power. I must go home this winter, if I walk by 
the side of the lake." 

But Quebec was not in our hands, and, until that 
was accomplished, Canada remained unconquered 
from foreign rule. Men, money and artillery were 
wanting for the task, but honor forbade the leader 
to turn back without attempting the capture of 
the last post held by Great Britain in Canada. In 
the face of a Canadian winter, he set out with such 
force as he had to accomplish this desperate but 
glorious object. 

Well-known histories narrate the siege of Quebec 
with sufficient clearness, and I need not attempt 
the repetition. There, against vast difficulties, and 
in great privation, with yet a good hope of success, 
the brave and noble Montgomery fell, in the full 
tide of assault, at the head of his troops. The 
single chance of success was lost at that moment ; 
and our forces sustained a disastrous defeat. 

In a few months all the ground we had gained in 
Canada was wrested from us, and the new nation 
seemed to have suffered a great misfortune. It 
certainly appeared very desirable that Canada 
should join the federation of American States, 
and become a sharer of their independence ; but 
the God of Nations ruled otherwise ; and many 
now believe that they see reasons for thinking that 
all happened for the best. 





By Nellie Wood. 

Now, Bumble-bee, you just keep still, — you need n't jump and buzz ; 

I 've had such a time to catch you as never, never wuz. 

I 've chased you round the garden, and, 'cause I did n't look, 

I almost fell right over into that drefful brook; 

And I 'm going to put yoit in it, tho' I s'pose you think you 're hid, 

For last week you stung my pussy, — you know very well you did. 

Yes, and you made us 'fraid that she was goin' to have a fit; 

She jumped up so, and tried to catch the place where you had bit. 

Yes! I shall surely drown you! — 

But, p'r'aps you 've got a home, 
And your little ones will wonder why you don't ever come ; 
And I think, p'r'aps, you 're sorry you went and acted so, — 
If you '11 only wait till I run away, — I — b'lieve— I '11 — let you go. 




By Frank R. Stockton. 

Nea-R the head of a small bay on the coast of 
South Carolina, there is a small, sandy island, 
which, at the time of this story, bore the name of 
One-tree Island, from the fact that a single tall 
palmetto was the only tree upon it. The island 
belonged to a family named Barclay, who had a 
house there, which was used as a summer resi- 
dence ; and although the island was not very 
shady, the air was pure and healthful, and there 
were broad piazzas around the house where shade 
and coolness could always be found. 

The family consisted of a father and mother, a 
son of fourteen, named Charley, and two younger 
children, both girls. Besides these white people, 
there were generally a dozen or more colored 
servants ; for this was long ago, in the days of 
slavery, when most Southern families had a great 
many house-servants. 

Mr. Barclay was a lawyer, and in the winter he 
lived near the small town at the head of the bay, 
where he had a plantation. 

One morning in August, the whole family had 
gone over to the town in a sail-boat. The weather 
had been cooler than usual for some days, and it 
was a pleasant sail from the island to the town. 
Mr. Barclay managed the boat, assisted by an 
old negro, called Daddy July, who sat in the bow 
and attended to the sail. 

Mr. Barclay had business in the town, regarding 
the sale of some property in which he was con- 
cerned ; but the rest of the family procured a car- 
riage and rode out to the plantation, where Mrs. 
Barclay spent the day in attending to some domes- 
tic matters. In the evening, when they found 
themselves again at the wharf where the sail-boat 
— the "Anna " — was moored, they were met, not by 
Mr. Barclay, but by a messenger with a note. In 
this, Mr. Barclay stated that he had been obliged 
to go out of town to meet some important parties 
to the business in which he was engaged, and that 
Charley, with Daddy July's help, would have to 
take them home. 

Charley could sail a boat very well, as his father 
knew, and he was delighted at this chance of tak- 
ing command of the "Anna," and showing his 
mother and sisters how well he could manage her ; 
for they had never been out with him alone 

But Mrs. Barclay was not delighted. She had 
not her husband's confidence in Charley's seaman- 
ship, — indeed, she knew very little about such 

things herself, and had an idea that no boy of 
fourteen should be trusted with a sail-boat in which 
there were ladies or children. As to Daddy July, 
she was sure he knew almost nothing about sailing, 
as she had heard Mr. Barclay say so. 

But Charley was urging her not to be afraid, but 
to get into the boat, which would be just as safe 
with him at the helm as if his father were there; 
and the two little girls were very anxious to get on 
board and have another sail, and Daddy July was 
in the boat, arranging the cushions and making 
ready for a start. And then, too, she began to 
think that her husband ought to know whether 
Charley was to be trusted or not, and so, after a 
little more hesitation, she went down the steps at 
the end of the wharf, and Charley helped her on 

The sail home was very pleasant, and devoid of 
any accident whatever. The wind was fresh, but 
not too strong, and Charley steered his little craft 
with steadiness and good judgment. When they 
ran up alongside of the landing platform, at the 
back of the house, Charley turned to his mother 
and said : 

" There, mother ! Have n't I brought you over 
safely enough ? " 

" Indeed, you have, my boy," said Mrs. Barclay. 
" I had no idea you were such a good sailor." 

" And wont you be willing to take a sail with 

me, — with me alone, I mean, — some other time?" 

"That is another matter," said Mrs. Barclay, 

laughing. " You know how afraid I am when I 'm 

on the water. But we shall see." 

The little girls and their mother went into the 
house, which stood quite near the water's edge, 
although it faced the other way, so that from the 
front piazza there was a view across the island and 
down the bay. This island might have been called, 
with truth, "one-house island," for Mr. Barclay's 
residence was the only house upon it, if we except 
the small buildings which were used as quarters, 
for the servants, and for various domestic purposes. 
These were all clustered together on one side of 
the house, and not far from the solitary palmetto 
which gave its name to the island. 

"Daddy July," said Charley, before he went 
into the house, " be sure to anchor the boat a 
good way out from shore. Father always wishes 
that done, you know, or when the tide runs out it 
may leave her aground. You can take the little 
bateau out with you, and come back in her when 



you 've anchored the sail-boat." And then Charley 
hurried in, for he was hungry and it was quite 

" Whar 's dat ar bateau?" said old Daddy 
July, looking on both sides of the platform. 

" She 's done gone. Dat ar boy Clum 's been, 
an' come, an' done gone an' took her fur to go 
fishin', an' jist as like as not he 's lef ' her at de 
udder end ob de islan'. Dat 's jist like dat boy, 
Clum, — knowin' we was all away. I wonder ef 
Mahs'r Chawles tinks I 'm a-gwine to take dat ar 
sail-boat out dar, an' den swim ashore ! 'Cause 
I 's not a-gwine to do it. I '11 jist push her out as 
far as I kin wade, an' anchor her dar, an' tie her 
to de landin' with a good long rope, an' den, ef 
she 's lef agroun', I '11 get up early in de mawnin' 
an' push her off." 

And so Daddy July rolled up his trousers, and 
anchored the boat some thirty feet from the pier. 

That night, about twelve o'clock, or perhaps a 
little later, Gracie, the younger of the little girls, 
fell out of bed. This was a favorite trick with her, 
as she was a great roller and tumbler, but she 
never before had had such a curious feeling when 
she had fallen out of bed. For this time she went 
plump into water half a foot deep ! 

As she struggled to her feet, dripping and floun- 
dering about in the water, her wild screams awoke 
her mother and sister ; even Charley, who was a 
heavy sleeper, was aroused. Mrs. Barclay sprang 
out of bed, and when she found herself over ankle- 
deep in water she could not refrain from a scream, 
and this brought up Charley, who jumped on to 
the floor of his room with a tremendous splash. 

" Hello ! " cried Charley, and for a moment he 
thought he was dreaming. Then he heard his 
mother calling him, and he splashed over to the 
bureau for a match, and lighted his lamp. By its 
light he saw that the floor was covered with water. 
Hastily slipping on a few clothes, and without 
stopping to roll up his trousers, he ran into his 
mother's room. 

"Oh, Charley!" cried his mother, holding the 
dripping Gracie in her arms. " There is a flood ! 
We shall all be swept away." 

Charley did not answer. He ran to the window. 
It was a moonlight night, although the sky was now 
cloudy, and he could see nothing but water spread- 
ing out around the house. The surface of the 
island had disappeared. The sea had certainly 
risen, and was sweeping up the bay. The water, 
which had come in under the doors, seemed higher 
out on the piazza than in the room where he was. 
It was evident that it had been rising for some time, 
or had risen very rapidly, for although the bed- 
rooms were all on the first floor, the house stood 

on piles which raised it five or six feet from the 

His mother again called to him : 

"What are we to do ? " she cried. "We shall 
certainly be washed away. Where are all the 
people? Why didn't they come and tell us? 
What shall we do ? " 

" I don't believe they know of it," said Charley, 
quickly. " The quarters are on higher ground 
than the house. Perhaps it hasn't reached them." 
He then ran through the water to another room, 
where there was a window which looked out in the 
direction of the quarters. He could see that all the 
houses must be surrounded by water; but a build- 
ing, which was used as a kitchen, stood between 
him and the quarters, and he could not see what 
was going on there. He put his head out of the 
window and shouted, but received no answer. 

As he hurried back to his mother's room, he 
heard a knocking at the back of the house. He 
stopped to listen, and then quickly made his way 
to the dining-room, the windows of which looked 
out upon the back piazza. When he reached a 
window, the first thing that he saw was the sail- 
boat, bumping and rubbing against the outside of 
the piazza railings. 

Charley was astounded ! How did that boat get 
there? But there was no time to consider ques- 
tions of this sort. He raised the window and sprang 
out on the piazza. The water was nearly up to his 
knees, but he waded to the railings, climbed over, 
and got into the boat. As he jumped in, it floated 
away from the house, but he seized an oar and 
drew it up again to the railings, where he made it 
fast at the bow. A rope ran out from the stern 
and went down under the water. 

"Daddy July has tied her to the end of the 
platform," said Charley, " and she 's floated 

This was true. As the water rose, the boat had 
pulled up the anchor, which was attached to a chain 
that the old man had made much too short, and 
then, being caught in an eddy which the waters had 
made in sweeping around the house, she had drifted 
back, still held by the long rope. This Charley 
quickly cut, — he found his knife in his pocket, — 
then he drew the stern also close to the piazza. 
He made it fast and hurried back into the house. 

There he found the water much higher, and his 
mother almost frantic. She thought he must be lost, 
in some way, for he had not answered her calls, and 
yet she was afraid to leave the other children to 
go and look for him. 

" Mother !" he cried. " We 're all right ! The 
• Anna ' is right here, at the back of the house. 
Get ready and we '11 all be off. We must be quick. 
I will carry Dora." 




" Stop one minute," said bis mother, hurriedly; 
" I must get them some clothes," and she set 
Gracie on the bed. 

"And yourself, too," cried Charley. '"Can't I 
help ? " 

Mrs. Barclay quickly opened some bureau- 
drawers, which were luckily above the water, and 
seizing some of the children's frocks, she handed 
them to Charley. She then grasped some of her 
own clothes, which were hanging in the room, with 
a shawl or two, which hung by them. Picking up 
the wet little Gracie, she said she was ready to go. 
Charley took up Dora, and they all made their way 
to the dining-room. Being now better used to 
the dim moonlight that came through the window's, 
they did not need a lamp. 

Charley put Dora and the clothes on the window- 
seat, and climbed out upon the piazza. Then, as 
quickly as he could, he placed the children and 
the clothes in the boat, and helped his mother 
out of the window, and over the railing. When 
she was safely seated with the children, Charley cast 
loose, stern and bow, and pushed the boat away 
from the house. 

While Charley was at work hoisting the sail, Mrs. 
Barclay took the wet clothes from little Gracie and 
rubbed her dry with a towel she had brought. 
Then she slightly dressed both the children and 
wrapped them in shawls. When this was done, 
she put on a wrapper and a shawl and drew the 
little girls close to her, one on each side. Fortu- 
nately, it was a warm night, and although they all 
were so slightly dressed, and none of them had on 
any shoes or stockings, they did not feel cold. 

The boat had been lying in the lee of the house, 
and they had not felt the wind, but when Charley 
put her about, so that her sail caught the strong 
but steady breeze that was coming up the bay, 
she quickly got under headway. 

" Oh, Charley ! " cried Mrs. Barclay, as they rap- 
idly sailed away from the house, " what can have 
become of all the people? It seems dreadful to 
go away and leave them ; and yet we could not 
take them all in this little boat. There are other 
boats, are there not ? " 

"Oh, yes!" said Charley; "there 's the big 
fishing-boat. I reckon they could all get into 
that. And the little bateau could carry three or 
four of them, if they crowded." 

" But were the boats near at hand ? " asked his 

"The big boat was," said Charley. "It was 
anchored close to the quarters." 

" But why did not some of them come to us?" 
said Mrs. Barclay. "I cannot understand it." 

"It must be as I said, mother," said Charley. 
"The quarters being higher than the house, they 

may not have known of the flood until it was too 
late to come to us." 

" Well, I hope, from the bottom of my heart, 
that they are all safe," said Mrs. Barclay. "I 
wish we could have sailed near the quarters, so 
that we could have found out something about 

" Well, I '11 try and sail near enough to see the 
quarters when we come back," said Charley. 

"Comeback!" exclaimed his mother. "You 
don't mean to say we are going back? " 

" Not exactly back," replied Charley, " but, you 
see, with this wind we have to tack across the bay 
so as to get up to town. I 'd be afraid to run 
before such a strong breeze as this, with you all on 
board. And when we go on the other tack, I can 
run down pretty near the quarters, and then if we 
can pick up anybody we '11 do it. It don't matter 
about losing time. We 're all right, now we 're 
safe aboard the ' Anna.' " 

But Charley did not go near the quarters on his 
back-tack. When he put the boat about, and his 
mother and sisters had changed their seats to the 
other side of the vessel, it was not long before he 
saw ahead of him what he thought was a boat. So 
he steered straight for it, and soon saw that it was 
full of people, with two men rowing as hard as 
they could. When they came nearer, he knew it 
was his father's big fishing-boat. He ran up ahead 
of her, lay to, and hailed her. 

As soon as the fishing-boat drew up, Mrs. Bar- 
clay called out to know if everybody was on board. 
Haifa dozen darkies spoke at once, but she under- 
stood that all were on board, — men, women and 
children, — excepting Clum and two other boys, 
who were in the bateau. 

" And dar 's the bateau ! " called out a negro 
man at the bow. " See de bateau ! Dar she cum, 
wid Clum a-scullin' her wid a rail." 

And then another man explained that the reason 
why Clum was sculling with a rail, was because 
they could n't find the oars of the big boat, which 
had probably been lying on the sand and floated 
off, and so they had to take the bateau oars for the 
big boat, and give Clum a rail, which fortunately 
happened to be in one of the houses. And as Clum 
was supposed to be able to propel a boat with 
almost any kind of a stick, this was considered to 
be all right. And, sure enough, the bateau was 
coming along quite rapidly. 

The negroes furthermore informed Mrs. Barclay 
that they had rowed to the house as soon as they 
had got the big boat started, but had seen the 
"Anna" sailing away, and were quite sure the 
family was on board of her ; and they were mighty 
glad, too, for there was not room for another per- 
son in their boat. 




Much relieved to find that everybody was safe, 
Charley brought the " Anna" around to the wind, 
and away she went on a long tack. It was day- 
light when she was gently run ashore, high up in 
a field in the outskirts of the town. The negroes, 
seeing where the sail-boat had landed, made for 
the same spot. Mrs. Barclay and the children 
were quickly conveyed to a neighboring house, 
and it was not long before they were joined there 
by Mr. Barclay, who had heard of the great flood 
in the bay, and had hurried into town, that he 
might go to the assistance of his family. But it 
would not be easy to describe his joy and thankful- 

and Clum was sure he had not been in his bateau. 
The fishing-boat was searched, to sec if he had 
crawled under anything and gone to sleep. But 
there was no sign of him. It was pretty evident 
that he had been left behind. 

Mr. Barclay was greatly grieved. Daddy July 
was a favorite old servant, and he could not bear 
to think that he had been left to drown. The 
water had risen so high that the quarters must 
have been carried away, and the house had prob- 
ably shared the same fate. But Mr. Barclay did 
not stop to conjecture in regard to these things. 
The flood had now ceased to increase, and there 


ness to find them all safe in the town, or his pride 
in his boy Charley, who had so manfully brought 
them away. 

" But, after all, father," said Charley, " we ought 
to be particularly obliged to old Daddy July; for 
if he had anchored the 'Anna' where I told him 
to, she would have dragged her anchor and been 
blown far away from us. It was tying her to the 
platform that made her swing around to the house, 
where I got hold of her." 

" Where is Daddy July ? " asked Mr. Barclay ; 
but this was a question not easily answered. The 
other negroes were all sitting about in the sun, 
outside ; but the old man was not among them. 
No one could remember seeing him in the big 
boat, though all thought, of course, he was there, 

might be a chance of doing some good by visiting 
the island, or the place where the island was sub- 
merged, and so the "Anna" was launched, and, 
with two trustworthy negro men and Charley 
(who, having had his breakfast, felt as lively as a 
lark and ready for anything), Mr. Barclay set sail. 
Long before they reached the spot where their 
happy summer home had stood, they saw that 
every building had been swept away. The house 
would probably be found, in pieces, along the 
shores of the bay. But one thing was standing to 
show the exact location of the island, and that was 
the solitary palmetto-tree, which, with its branch- 
ing top and half its trunk out of water, still stood, 
gently waving over the island which bore its name. 
Charley was sitting in the bow of the boat. As 




it approached the tree, he sprang to his feet and 
gave a shout. 

" Hello !" he cried. "Look there! There he 
is! There 's Daddy July, in the top of the old 
palmetto ! " 

Sure enough, there he was, snugly nestled 
among the branches at the top of the tree ! 

Everybody shouted at him, as the boat was 
brought around and made fast to the tree, and a 
happier old darkey never slowly slid down a 
palmetto trunk and dropped into a boat. 

" How in the world, Daddy July," said Mr. Bar- 
clay, as the old man sat down in the stern of the 
boat, " did you ever come to climb that tree ?" 

" Why, you see, Mahs'r George," said the old 
negro, " dey was so long findin' de oars an' gittin' 
ready, dat I was jist afeard dey neber would git off 
at all, an' 1 jist clum' up dat tree, as quick as eber 
I could, for de water was a-gittin' wuss an' wuss ; 
but I did n't b'lieve it would eber git ober de top 
ob dat tree. An' when Mahs'r Charley went off 
in de sail-boat, I hollered at him ; but de wind 
took away de holler, an' when de fellers in de big 
boat sot out I hollered at dem, but dey did n't hear, 

ah' when Clum come along Hello ! what's 


And he sprang to his feet, with his hand in his 

" Dar 's somethin' mighty soft an' warm in dar," 
he said, as he pulled out a big rat, which had been 
cuddled up in his pocket. He put his hand in 
again, and pulled out another. These he threw 
into the water, and putting his hand in the other 
pocket, pulled out three more. 

The poor creatures were driven by the flood to 
the tree, and during the night had found the old 
man's pockets nice, warm places in which to nestle. 
Some were found even in the folds of his shirt.* 

" Dar now ! Mahs'r George," said Daddy July, 
as he threw away the last of them, "if you wants 
any more rats in de island, you got to fotch 'em 
over. I 'se done gone an' brung 'em all away, dis 
time, shuah." 

Mr. Barclay did not build another house on 
" One-tree Island," but chose for his next summer 
residence a higher and a safer spot. And Mrs. 
Barclay was never again afraid to take a sail with 
only Charley to manage the boat. 

This incident is a fact. 

HARK, hark ! What 's that noise ? 
Something 's the matter with the toys. 
Scrub, scrub ! Swish, swash ! 
The biggest doll is trying to wash, 

The other dolls are making cake. 
The new cook-stove is beginning to bake ; 
The table is setting itself, you see ; 
They must be expecting friends to tea. 







to $tkl't. 

By Daniel C. Beard. 

Did you ever watch a beautiful soap-bubble dance 
merrily through the air, and think how closely it 
resembled the immense silken bubble beneath 
which the daring aeronaut goes bounding among 
the clouds ? When a school-boy, the writer used 
to attach one end of a small rubber tube to a gas- 
burner and the other to a clay pipe, and thus let 
the gas blow soap-bubbles, which would shoot up 
into the air with the greatest rapidity. 

From these soap balloons, his ambition led 
him to make balloons of more lasting material, and, 
after numerous experiments and disasters, he suc- 
ceeded in building paper balloons of a style which 
is comparatively safe from accident, and seldom the 

cause of a mortifying failure. If you do not want 
to disappoint the spectators by having a fire 
instead of an ascension, avoid models with small 
mouth openings or narrow necks. Experience has 
also taught the writer that balloons of good, substan- 
tial, portly build, go up best and make their journey 
in a stately, dignified manner, while the slim, narrow 
balloon, on the contrary, even if it succeeds in getting 
a safe start, goes bobbing through the air, turning 
this way and that, until the flame from the fire-ball 
touches and lights the thin paper, leaving only a 
handful of ashes floating upon the summer breeze. 
The reader can see here illustrated some of 
the objectionable shapes as well as some of the 




safe styles. For large balloons, strong manillu 
paper is best ; for smaller ones, use tissue paper. 

When you build a balloon, decide first what 
height you want it, then make the side-pieces or 


gores nearly a third longer ; a balloon of thirteen 
gores, each six feet long and one foot greatest width, 
makes a balloon a little over four feet high. For 
such a balloon, first make a pattern of stiff brown 
paper by which to cut the gores. To make the 
pattern, take a strip of paper six feet long and a 
little over one foot wide ; fold the paper in the 
center lengthwise, so that it will be only a little over 
a half foot from the edges to the fold. Along the 
bottom, measure two inches from the fold, and mark 
the point. At one foot from the bottom, at right 
angles from the folded edge, measure three inches 
and one-half, and mark the point ; in the same man- 
ner, mark off five inches from two feet up the fold. 

fold ; about three inches and a third at the fifth 
foot ; nothing, of course, at the sixth foot, or top, 
where the gore will come to a point. With chalk 
or pencil draw a curved line connecting these 
points, cut the paper along this line and unfold it. 

You will have a pattern the shape of a cigar, four 
inches wide at the bottom, one foot greatest width, 
and six feet long. 

After pasting your sheets of manilla or tissue 
paper together in strips of the required length, 
cut, by the pattern just made, thirteen gores; 
lay one of these gores flat upon the floor, as in the 
highest diagram in Fig. 3 ; fold it in the center as 
in the middle diagram, Fig. 3 ; over this lay 
another gore, leaving a margin of the under 
gore protruding from beneath as in the lowest 
diagram, Fig. 3. With a brush, cover the pro- 


From a point three feet four inches from the bottom, 
measure off six inches, and mark the point ; from 
this place the width decreases. At the fourth foot, 
mark a point five inches and one-half from the 
VOL. VII.— 48. 


truding edge with paste, then turn it up and over 
upon the upper gore, and with a towel or rag press 
it down until the two edges adhere. Fold the 
upper gore in the center as you did the first one, 
and lay a third gore upon it ; paste the protruding 
edge ; and so on until all thirteen are pasted. It 
will be found that the bottom gore and top gore 
have each an edge unpasted ; lay these two 
edges together, and paste them neatly. 

Next, you must make a hoop of rattan or some 
light substance to fit the mouth opening, which will 
be about one foot and a half in diameter. Fasten 
the hoop in by pasting the edges of the mouth 
opening around it. In very large paper balloons 
it is well to place a piece of string along the edge 
of each gore and paste it in ; letting the ends of 
the strings hang down below the mouth ; fasten 
the hoop in with these ends before pasting the 




paper over it. It will be found next to impos- 
sible to tear the hoop from a balloon strengthened 
in this manner. 

Should you discover an opening at the top 
of your balloon, caused by the points not joining 
exactly, tie it up with a string if it be small, but, if 
it be a large hole, paste a piece of paper over it. 
When dry, take a fan and fan the balloon as full 
of air as you can, and while it is inflated make a 
thorough inspection of all sides to see that there are 
no accidental tears, holes or rips. 

Fig. 4 shows the cross-wires that support the 
fire-ball. The latter is best made of old-fashioned 
lamp-wick, wound rather loosely 
in the form of a ball, the size 
depending upon the dimen- 
ii sions of the balloon. The 
sponge commonly used 
soon burns out and the 
balloon comes down in 
a very little while, but 
the wick-ball here de- 
scribed seldom fails to 
propel the little 
air-ship upward 
and onward out 
of sight. A 
short, fine wire 
should next be 
run quite 





through the wick-ball, so that it can be attached 
to the mouth of the balloon in an instant by 

hooking the ends of this wire over the cross-wires 
at the mouth. 

If you use a little 
care, you will have no 
difficulty in sending 
up the balloon. Place 
your wick-ball in a pan 
or dish, put the corked 
bottle of alcohol beside 
it, and about thirty feet 
away make a simple 
fire-place of bricks or 
stones, over which place 
an old stove-pipe. Fill 
the fire-place with 
shavings, twisted pieces 
of paper, or anything 
that will light readily 
and make a good blaze. 
In a loop of string fast- 
ened at the top of the 
balloon for that purpose 
let one of the party put 
the end of a smooth stick, and, with the other end 
in his or her hand, mount some elevated position 
and hold the balloon over the fire-place. Before 
touching a match to the combustibles below, 
expand the balloon as much as possible by fanning 
it full of air; then light the fire. Be very care- 
ful, in all the process that follows, to hold the 
mouth of the balloon directly above and not too 
near the stove-pipe, to prevent the blaze from set- 
ting fire to the paper, which would easily catch. 
At this stage of the proceedings one person must 
take the bottle of alcohol, uncork it, and pour 
the contents over the wick-ball in the 
basin, and the ball must be made 
to soak up all it will hold of 
the spirits. The balloon 
will become more and 
more buoyant as the air 
becomes heated inside, 
and at length, when dis- 
tended to its utmost, it 
will begin pulling to free 
itself. Holding the hoop 
at the mouth, walk to one 
•:-; side of the fire and with 

|jjk_ all speed have the ball at- 
tached securely in place. 
Touch a light to it, and 
it will blaze up. At the 
words "All right," let go. 
At the same instant the 
stick must be slid from 
the loop on top, so as not to tear the paper, and 
away will sail the balloon upon its airy voyage. 




Never attempt to send up a bal- 
loon upon a windy day, for the wind 
will be sure, sooner or later, to blow 
the blaze aside and set the paper 
on fire, and, if once it catches, up 
in the air, there is not much use in 
trying to save it. 

After you have made a balloon 
like the one just described, and sent 
it up successfully, you can try other 
shapes. A very good plan in experi- 
menting is to make a small work- 
ing model of light tissue-paper, fill 
it with cold air by means of an 
ordinary fan, and, when it is ex- 
panded, any defect in form or pro- 
portion can be readily detected and 
remedied. If it be too narrow, cut 
it open at one seam and put in 
another gore, or vice versa, until 
you are satisfied with the result; 
with this as a pattern, construct 

your larger balloon. Such a model, 

eighteen inches high, lies upon the 

writer's table. He has sent it up in 

the house several times, by holding 

it a few moments over a burning 

gas-jet. It rapidly fills with heated 

air and, when freed, soars up to 

the ceiling, where it rolls along until 

the air cools, then falls gently to the 


The parachute shown in Fig. 10 

is simply a square piece of paper 

with a string at each of the four 

corners, meeting a short distance underneath, 

where a weight is attached. Fig. 5 shows how to 

make one that will not tear. It is made of two 

square pieces of paper. Two pieces of string are 


These parachutes are attached to a wire that 
hangs from the balloon, in this manner : From 
the center and top of the parachute is a string, 
we will say, a foot long ; this is tied securely 




aid diagonally across the first paper; on top of to one end of a fuse, from out of a pack of Chinese 

his the second piece of paper is pasted, inclosing fire-crackers; a few inches from the other end of 

the stnngs without disturbing them; the ends of the fuse another string is tied and fastened to the 

the strings come out at the corners. wire . Just as the balloon start the free end of the 





fuse is lighted ; when it has burned itself away past 

the point where the upper stringhas been fastened, 
it of course severs the connec- 
tion between the parachute and 
the balloon, and the parachute 
drops, but does not go far, for 
the air beneath spreads it out, 
the weight at the bottom bal- 
ances it, and it floats away 
slowly (Fig. 13), settling lower 
and lower, but often traveling 
miles before finally reaching 
the earth. 

All manner of objects may 
be attached to a parachute, — 
notes addressed to possible 
finders, letters, or figures of 

men or animals. The latter look very odd in the air. 
A real passenger balloon may be pretty closely 

imitated by painting crossed black lines upon the 

upper part of a paper balloon, to represent the 
net-work. A pasteboard balloon-car, made after 
the manner shown 
in Fig. 6, and 
holding two paste- 
board men cut out 
as shown in Fig. 
7, may be hung 
on by hooking the 
wires attached to 
the car over the 
hoop at the mouth 
of the balloon. 
When the balloon 
and car are a lit- 
tle distance up in 
the air, it takes a sharp eye to detect the deception, 
because distance in the air cannot be easily judged. 
But, so far, we have dealt only with day balloons ; 
for night, you must attach some luminous object. 

FIG. 9. 




A lantern made like the one described in " Kite- 
time," St. Nicholas for March, 1880, may be 
fastened to the balloon by a long string and wire, 
and when it goes swinging after the larger light 
above, it has a curious appearance. In a similar 
manner, a long string of lanterns may be hung on 
to a large balloon, or packs of Chinese crackers 
may be exploded in mid-air by means of a fuse. 

The writer has 
experimented in 
other fire-works, 
but found them 
very dangerous 
to handle. Mr. 
Stallknecht, of 
the Hat, Cap 
and Fur Trade 
Review, howev- 
er, showed the 
author how to 
make a simple, 
safe and beauti- 
ful pyrotechnic 
out of a roman 
candle with col- 
ored balls, a piece 
of wire and a 
fuse. The fuse 

from the center or side, 
the wire-wheel attach 

(Fig. 9.) To the rim of 
several wires of equal 



lengths, with hooked ends ; hook these on to the 
hoop at the mouth of the balloon, just before 
letting it go, and light the trailing end of the fuse. 
As the fire creeps slowly along, the balloon mounts 


used can be bought in 
almost any city or town ; 
it is sold to miners for 
setting off blasts. With 
the wire, make a sort of 
wheel, with two or three 
spokes ; cut open the 
roman candle and extract the powder and balls ; 
wrap up each ball with some of the powder loosely 
in a piece of tissue paper and tie the paper at the 
ends upon the spokes or cross-wires of the wheel, as 
shown in Fig. 8. Run the fuse spirally around, 
passing through each parcel containing a ball, and 
allow the long end of the fuse to trail down beneath 

,y/— >i 


higher and higher. Suddenly, the whole balloon 
glows with a ruddy, lurid glare ! The fire has 
reached the first ball. In another instant, you see 
a floating globe of pale-green light, then blue, and 




so on, until all the balls are consumed. Showers 
of pretty, jagged sparks are falling constantly dur- 
ing the illumination, caused by the burning pow- 
der. By the time all is over, the tiny light of the 
solitary ball in the balloon looks like a star in the 
sky above, traveling where the wind has a mind to 

blow it. For the most experienced aeronaut has but 
very little more command over the actions of his 
immense silken air-ship than has the young ama- 
teur aeronaut, who builds his balloon of tissue 
paper, and sends it skyward, with a ball of fire for 
its motive power. 


Bv F. Blakk Crofton. 


SOME miles from the company's trading-post was 
a four-sided cut in the ground. It was thirty feet 
long, by twenty broad. In depth it was over 
twelve feet, and its sides were perpendicular. It 
had been an elephant pit when elephants were 
plenty and the ivory trade brisk in the district. 

At the time I speak of, it was no longer in use. 
A couple of planks, covered with withered sods and 
brambles, were all that remained of the false roof 
which had served to lure unsuspecting elephants 
to their downfall. 

In this cut I was once forced to take refuge by 
an infuriated keitloa, or black rhinoceros, at which 
I had rashly fired. I was obliged to throw away 
my rifle in my race, and had barely time to leap 
blindly into the pit, whose bottom I luckily reached 
without any injury beyond a slight shock. Here, 
seating myself on a pile of broken planks, which 
in times past had yielded beneath the weight of 
elephants, I began to reflect. I had enough time; 
indeed, I feared I might have a good deal too 
much time for reflection. A wounded rhinoceros 
is a stayer, and no mistake. 

That I could climb out by piling up 
rubbish seemed likely ; but I did n't 
want to climb out while the keitloa was 
on duty there. That he could jump in 
was certain ; and I fancied I could tease 
him into risking a leap. But I was far 
from wishing him to do so, unless I could 
go up and out at the same instant ; and 
this, I thought, was simply impossible. 

At last I hit upon a scheme — a dan- 
gerous one to be sure, but not so dan- 
gerous as waiting to be starved to death. 
I constructed a see-saw. A strong, unbroken 
plank made my moving-beam ; for a stationary, 
or supporting board, I put several broken planks 
on top of one another and bound them, as best 
I could, with bits of old rope. This rope had 
formerly served to bind the false roof, and now 
lay among its ruins at the bottom of the pit. 

One end of the moving-beam was immediately 
under that side of the pit where the rhinoceros had 
taken his stand. Across the beam, from this end 
to where its center rested on the fixed support, I 
tied branches and covered them with withered 




grass — knowing that a rhinoceros is never remark- 
able for smartness, and is especially easy to deceive 
when angry. 

I then took my seat on the other end of the see- 
saw, thereby, of course, tipping up the extremity 
nearest the huge brute, at which I began popping with 
my revolver. I also, in imitation of the natives, 
called him various abusive names, and reflected in- 

If he touched the see-saw with any part of his 
ponderous body, I should be shot up — where, I 
could not exactly tell ; if he missed the see-saw, I 
should stay down, and it would be all up with me. 

Bang ! came his forefoot on the raised end of 
the beam, cutting short my reflections. Whiz ! 
up went the lower end, and I with it, like a rocket. 
I fortunately alighted outside the pit, having been 


sultingly upon his ancestry. At last he screamed, 
or perhaps I should say grunted, with rage (wheth- 
er at the bullets or the abuse, I cannot say) and 
withdrew a few steps for a charge. Notwithstand- 
ing a slight sinking sensation, I fired my last car- 
tridge and shouted out the name which I had heard 
was most offensive to a sensitive keitloa. Then I 
shut my eyes and nervously awaited his descent. 

considerably above its brink at the height of my 

The rhinoceros was now a captive himself. 
Indeed, I believe he continues one to this day, for 
an agent of Barnum's shortly afterward visited our 
station in search of new attractions for his menag- 
erie, and I sold my prisoner for , but I must 

not let out trade secrets. 





By Mrs. M. F. Butts. 

It is summer," says a fairy, 
Bring me tissue light and airy ; 
Bring me colors of the rarest, 
Search the rainbow for the fairest — 
Sea-shell pink and sunny yellow, 
Kingly crimson, deep and mellow, 
Faint red in Aurora beaming, 
And the white in pure pearls gleaming 

" Bring me diamonds, shining brightly 
Where the morning dew lies lightly ; 
Bring me gold dust, by divining 
Where the humming-bird is mining; 
Bring me sweets as rich as may be 
From the kisses of a baby ; — 
With an art no fay discloses 
I am going to make some roses." 





By Noah Brooks. 

Chapter V. 


" If J;ike Coombs goes to the mackerel grounds 
with Captain Kench, I s'pose Pel Snelgro will go 
too ; he always does what Jake does, and then we 
sha'n't have another hack at the White Bears until 
next fall, and that's too bad." Sam Perkins said 
this as he lounged at full length on the hay-mow. 

Jo Murch, who was emptying some hay-seed out 
of his shoe, looked down from his perch on the 
beam and said: " Say, fellows, I '11 tell you what, 
— let 's start a military company." The other boys 
looked at Jo with amazement, as if unable to grasp 
his bold idea. Jo was famous for his bold ideas. 
But Sam Perkins sat upon the hay and cried: 
" The very tiling ; let 's organize a militia company 
and call it the Hancock Cadets." Now the name 
of the local military company was " The Hancock 

"Where shall we get our guns?" asked Billy 
Hetherington, doubtfully. "A militia company 
without any guns would be of no account, and we 
could n't muster more than three altogether, even 
counting in my father's double-barreled shot-gun, 
and I am no way sure that he would let me have 

" Say, fellows," said Sam Black, " I can fife, you 
know, and that will be some help, and there is 
George Bridges, he 's got a drum, or his father has, 
and that 's all the same, and George drums first- 
rate ; so there 's the music, anyhow." 

Jo Murch, with some little scorn in his face, re- 
plied : " Oh, yes, Blackie has got his place in the 
company all fixed, but he don't show the way to 
get the arms and 'couterments." 

" What are 'couterments, anyhow," asked Billy. 

"Ignorance!" sneered Jo. "Why 'couter- 
ments are the things a soldier is obliged to carry. 
Don't the militia call say, 'armed and equipped as 
the law directs, with musket, knapsack, priming- 
wire, brush,' and all that sort of thing? And the 
arms and equipments are the accouterments. Now, 
then, smarty, ask me another hard question, will 
you ? " 

Here Sam Perkins interposed in the interest of 

" I never saw such a disagreeable chap as 
you are, Jotham Murch; always trying to be too 
smart for anything. Why don't you invent some- 
thing for the arms and 'couterments? Say," he 

added, as a new thought struck him, " we might 
have wooden swords and guns, you know. I don't 
believe they would cost much. Charles Fitts is a 
great dabster in cutting and carving things, and 
perhaps he would get us up some for next to 

"Pooh!" cried Jo, "who wants to train with 
wooden guns and broom-handles ? Why, the White 
Bears would laugh at us, and I should n't blame 
them, either, if we were to turn out in a rig like 
that. And say," he said, turning upon Blackie, "you 
have a great deal of brass to say that George 
Bridges will be our drummer. Why, he is the 
White Bears's second base. A nice lot we should 
be with one of the best basemen of our hereditary 
foes beating the drum for us," and Jotham leaned 
over the edge of the hay-mow and jabbed at a stray- 
hen with a pitchfork, in an absent-minded sort 
of way. 

It was explained that George was the only boy in 
town who had a drum, or a chance at a drum, and 
that it was necessary that he be invited into the 
proposed company for his drum; besides, as Sam 
Perkins explained, George was a good fellow, and 
it was not his fault that he was a member of the 
White Bears's Nine. So it was agreed that he be 
asked to join the company, when it should be made 
up, and Sam Black, being a neighbor of the absent 
George, was instructed to give him a chance to 
come into the organization. 

Jo, who had been striking at imaginary heredi- 
tary foes with the pitchfork,, exclaimed: 

" I have it ! Lances are the thing ! When I was 
in Boston, last summer, I saw the Boston Lancers, 
and they were just prime. Each man was mounted 
on a big horse, and he carried in his hand a long 
lance " 

"But we can't be mounted on horses," inter- 
rupted Sam Perkins, derisively. "Besides, where 
are you going to get your lances, any better than 
your guns ? " 

Sam Perkins did not, as a rule, approve of 
anything suggested by Jo, and Jo was apt to rebel 
at the petty tyranny which Captain Sam exercised 
over the rest of the Nine. And, more than all this, 
Jo was fond of saying, " When I was in Boston, last 
year," which was unbearable to boys who had not 
been in Boston ; and most of the Fairport boys had 
not been so fortunate. So, when Jo proposed' 
lances, and added insult to injury, so to speak, Sam 
was ready to quarrel with him. The good-natured, 



rosy-cheeked " Lob " poured oil on the troubled 
waters, by remarking that lances could be made of 
long, round sticks, painted and varnished to look 
like the lances which he had seen in the pictures in 
Scott's novels. 

"But what are you going to do for heads?" 
demanded Sam Perkins. "Make 'em of cast 
iron ? That would be too costly, and there is no 
iron foundry in these parts." 

" Make 'em of tin," explained Jo, who had 
recovered his good temper. " Make 'em of tin, 
and fasten them into the ends of the poles. Tin 
looks enough like steel to be a lance-head, 
anyhow, and we can put on some little strips of 
red bunting to look like the pennons that the 
Boston Lancers had on theirs." 

This, it was agreed, was a feasible plan, and it 
was settled that the boys should talk the matter 
over among the members of the Nine, and that 
they should have a meeting in Hatch's barn, next 
Saturday afternoon, and at once organize. 

The entire Nine, with George Bridges added, 
met as agreed upon, and it was further and 
formally agreed that the arms of the company 
should be lances made as suggested by Jo Murch 
and " the Lob." The question of the name was 
not so easily settled. Sam Perkins wanted the 
name to be "The Fairport Cadets," but Pat 
Adams said that that was the name of the militia 
company at Ellsworth. " Why not call it the 
Fairport Nine ? " he cried manfully, mindful of 
the honor of the base-ball club. 

" Why, there will be more than nine of us," said 
Hi Hatch. "I wouldn't belong to a company 
with only nine fellows in it, and we are ten now, 
counting George, and he is a member of the other 
Nine, besides. I vote for the name of ' The Han- 
cock Cadets.' Ellsworth is a long way off, 
anyhow, even if the Captain of the Cadets did say, 
in his toast, when the Hancock Guards gave them 
a dinner on the common, last year, that it was no 
further from Fairport to Ellsworth than from Ells- 
worth to Fairport. By the way, fellows, that was 
a first-rate toast, was n't it ? " 

" All in favor of calling our company ' The 
Hancock Cadets,' hold up their hands till 
counted ! " called out Captain Sam. Four hands 
went up, George's being one. " Contrary minds ! " 
Six hands went up. " It aint a vote," said Sam, 
with some appearance of disappointment. 

" Now, then, all you fellows who are in favor of 
calling it ' The Fairport Nine,' hold up your 
hands till you are counted." Six hands went up. 
"Oh, this is too ridiculous!" cried Sam. 

"Call the contrary minds!" shouted George 
Bridges. " Declare the vote," said Jo Murch, 
who had voted for the name of the Nine, just to 

spite Sam Perkins, as he afterward explained. So 
Sam declared the name adopted by the company 
was "The Fairport Nine"; and "a very ridicu- 
lous name it was, too," as he added, for the benefit 
of those who had voted against him. 

The election of officers being next in order, Sam 
Perkins was naturally chosen captain, though Jo 
Murch whispered to " the Lob " that there was no 
sense in making the skipper of a schooner the 
captain of a full-rigged ship, which figure of 
speech " the Lob " understood to be a reflection 
on the policy of choosing the Captain of the Nine 
as captain of the militia company. "Silence in 
the ranks!" thundered Captain Sam, as well as 
his somewhat thin voice could thunder. " Don't 
begin to put on airs so soon," said Jo. "We're 
not in the ranks yet, and, when we are, there will 
be lots of time for you to put on frills." 

Captain Sam wisely overlooked the impertinence, 
and the election of officers went on, Billy Hether- 
ington being chosen standard-bearer, and Ned 
Martin first-lieutenant. It was voted not to have 
any second-lieutenant until the company was bigger. 
As it was, the rank and file of the company con- 
sisted of only five men, or boys, I should say, — the 
other five being the captain, first-lieutenant, 
standard-bearer, fifer and drummer. 

"Billy Hetherington ought to have been the 
captain," said Jo Murch to Blackie, as the boys 
sauntered homeward, after the election was over. 
" His father is a judge, and his grandfather was a 
general," he added, by way of clinching the argu- 

"And his mother makes the best doughnuts of 
anybody in town," added Blackie, with a merry 
grin. " Is n't that reason enough ? " 

The first parade of the Fairport Nine took place 
about two weeks after the organization of the com- 
pany. It is needless to say that the appearance of 
the little band was hailed by those of the White 
Bears who were at home with shouts of derision. 

If Captain Sam Perkins's appreciation of military 
discipline had not been very strong, he would have 
left the ranks and attacked Eph Mullett with his tin 
sword, as that unpleasant young man put his head 
out of the hearse-house door, shouted, "Goose 
egg ! " and shut himself in again. 

As it was, Ned Martin, who was not wrapped up 
in his dignity as he should have been, bawled out : 
" Nosey ! nosey ! " to the mortification of the cap- 
tain, who shouted : " Silence in the ranks ! " until 
he was red in the face. 

Drawn upon the Common, the "Nine" mus- 
tered fourteen in number, the original ten having 
been reinforced by four other boys, the smallest of 
whom was little Sam Murch, whose services in 
climbing the meeting-house lightning-rod, on the 




night before the Fourth of July, seemed to deserve 
some such reward. The lances were resplendent 
in varnish, and the tin tops, cut out according to a 
pattern furnished from a picture in Ivanhoe, were 
as good as the best lance ever put in rest by any 
of the heroes of that delightful story, — at least, so 
Billy Hetherington thought, as he glanced proudly 
at the array. The little strips of red bunting flut- 
tered in the breeze from the heads of the lances, 
and the general appearance of the troop, as Jo 
Murch remarked, was quite like that of the Boston 
Lancers. The manual of arms, to which the boys 
were somewhat accustomed, after having watched 
the militia company of the town at drill, was gone 
through very creditably, excepting that " the Lob," 
when told to ground arms, would persist in throw- 
ing his weapon on the ground, instead of dropping 
the lower end to the ground, as was the customary 
fashion in the old-time drill. And Jo Murch, who 
was clearly in a mutinous spirit, kept his lance at 
the shoulder, when the order " Present arms ! " was 
shouted by the captain. Captain Sam looked at 
the malcontent for a moment, as if in doubt what 
to do with him, and then good-naturedly said : 
" Well, it isn't any matter, Jo." Whereupon Jo 
immediately presented arms, having gained his 
point, which was to make the captain " take water," 
as the boys were wont to say. 

Another difficulty occurred when the company 
was marching to the house of Pat Adams, where 
the standard was to be presented to the company. 
George Bridges, so intent on beating his drum 
that he could not keep in line, was continually out 
of his place, to the confusion of the rest of the 
troop. Finally, when, absorbed by his own music, 
he strayed into the grass-grown gutter by the side 
of the road, Captain Sam came down upon him 
with his tin sword, and, drawing it from an imag- 
inary scabbard, shrieked : 

" If you don't keep in line, I '11 assassinate you ! " 
To this terrific threat the young drummer, who 
had about as much idea of the meaning of the 
word used as Sam had, replied, with a drawl : 
" If you 'sassinate me, I wont drum." 
The standard was a magnificent affair, made by 
the big sisters of several of the boys, assisted by 
Phcebe Noyes .and some of the other girls, who, 
though they could not lay out the work, were glad 
to put a few stitches in the beautiful banner. It 
was made of white cotton cloth, with nine red stars 
in an oval line, emblematical of the illustrious Nine 
of Fairport, and in this oval was a cluster of four 
blue stars, the whole making the old thirteen, the 
number of the original States. A pair of bright- 
red curtain-tassels dangled from the top of the 
staff, which was surmounted by a tin spear-head, 
gilded, and the whole was a most gorgeous affair. 

Flaxen-haired Alice Martin, Ned's sister, had 
been selected to present the standard. So, with 
the company drawn up before the front door of the 
house, pretty Alice, with the flag in her hand, and 
surrounded by the big girls and the little girls who 
had had a hand in this business, delivered the 
following address: 

" Soldiers of the illustrious Nine ! I am commis- 
sioned by the ladies of Fairport to present to you 
this beautiful banner, whereon are sown the stars of 
the thirteen colonies of our beloved land. We know 
we could give it into no more honorable and safe 
keeping than yours. You are the first to form a 
company of soldiers among the youth of our beau- 
tiful village, and to you belongs the great honor of 
being the first to receive the flag of your country 
from those who, though they may not mingle in 
the fray where you are to win laurels imperishable, 
may, at least, look on from afar with the sincerest 
admiration for your prowess, and the most tender 
wishes for your success in the strife. Take this 
banner, and, in the words of the poet, — 

" ' Forever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
With freedom's soil beneath our feet 
And freedom's banner streaming o'er us.' " 

This beautiful and eloquent address, it should be 
said, was composed by Sam Perkins's big sister 
Sarah ; and the reply, by the same industrious 
young lady, was delivered by Billy Hetherington, 
who, advancing from the ranks, when Alice said 
" Take this banner," thus delivered his speech : 

"Accept my thanks, dear madam," — and here 
Alice blushed deeply, — " in behalf of myself and 
my fellow soldiers, for this elegant testimonial of 
the interest which the ladies of Fairport take in the 
welfare of the military service of the Republic. 
We receive it with pride ; we shall bear it forth 
with a firm determination to die, if need be," — and 
here Billy dropped a furtive tear and his voice 
quivered a little, — "in defense of the banner thus 
confidently intrusted to our keeping. When, on 
the field of battle, or in the lonely bivouac, we 
shall look upon its shining folds, shining with the 
stars of our beloved country, we shall think of this 
day, when we were reminded by you that, though 
you may not participate in the strife in which we 
must engage, you look at the carnage from a dis- 
tance, and give us your fervent wishes for our suc- 
cess. And, whatever shall befall, we know that we 
may depend, in the words of the poet, on this : 

" ' Ah ! never shall the land forget 

How gushed the life-blood of her brave ; 
Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet, 
Upon the soil they sought to save.' " 

This address so touched the tender hearts of 
some of the smallest girls that they choked down a 




little sob, while Captain Sam, turning to his gallant command there was an immediate response, and 

band, shouted: "Three cheers for the ladies!' 
The cheers were given with a will, the new banner 
being waved enthusiastically by the proud and 
happy standard-bearer. 

"Three more for Miss Alice Martin!" shouted 

Ned's anger at being reproved melted away. 

There was a collation of cakes, pies, and berries 
and milk laid out in the wood-shed of the house on 
the hill, and, once more saluting the ladies with 
three shrill and hearty cheers, the martial Nine 


the first-lieutenant, her brother. A disorderly and 
somewhat irregular cheer arose, when Captain 
Sam, brandishing his sword in air, cried : " Nobody 
has a right to give orders in this company but me; 
so, now. Now, then, fellow soldiers ! three cheers 
for Miss Martin, the sister of your brave lieutenant, 
and the presenter of our flag, which she has done 
in a beautiful speech." To this long and elaborate 

filed out into the street, and with fife and drum, 
colors flying, and lances glittering in the sunlight, 
they marched up the hill; an admiring throng of 
girls accompanying them on the sidewalk, they, 
too, being invited to the feast. 

It was a great day for the Fairport Nine, and 
even Nance, who remained stanch to the prowess 
of the White Bears, with whom her sympathies 




naturally belonged, confessed, as she brought out 
plateful after plateful of Mrs. Hetherington's famous 
doughnuts, that she was having " an awful good 
time," the fact that " that black boy was in it all" 
being the only drawback to her complete enjoy- 
ment of the festivities. 

Chapter VI. 


IT was necessary that the first experience of the 
new military company should be as much like that 
of real soldiers as possible. It was, accordingly, 
agreed that there should be what the boys knew as 
a " muster." 

Now, a muster in New England, in these 
days, was like the annual trainings which are 
held in some other States. The annual muster in 
the region of Fairport was held at Orland, a small 
town a few miles from Fairport. To it resorted 
all the militia companies from far and near. They 
were drilled and put through the exercises of war, 
in the most approved fashion. As the muster 
lasted for three or four days, it was needful for the 
soldiers to camp out during their stay; and so it 
came to pass that many of the visitors also spent 
the nights in tents and booths rented for the time 
by enterprising Yankees of the neighborhood. 

The muster was the great annual festival of the 
country, rivaling the annual circus in its attrac- 
tions. There were traveling jugglers, peep-shows, 
blowing-machines, learned pigs, and various de- 
lights for the entertainment of the visitor; and the 
booths, at which pies, cakes, baked beans, cold 
roast pig, ginger-beer, and other delicious things 
to eat and drink were sold, were to the boys like a 
vision of fairy land. To go to muster was to have 
a treat excelled only by a visit to Boston. 

Obviously, one lone company could not have a 
muster, any more than one bird can flock by him- 
self. But the Fairport Nine did not care very much 
for the niceties of military phrase. They would 
have a muster, whether it was like the real thing or 
not. What does a name signify ? 

It was late in the summer, and the wild rasp- 
berries were ripe, when the boys held their first 
annual muster in the block-house pasture of Fair- 
port. This pasture was on the hillside sloping 
down to the shore of Penobscot Bay. The highest 
point of land anywhere about that region was once 
crowned by a block-house, built by the British at 
the beginning of the Revolutionary war. From 
this eminence toward the shore, the land descended 
abruptly, and the edge overlooking the water was 
bluffy and precipitous. But, here and there, among 
the spruce-covered hills, were clear spaces level 

enough for the Nine (who were really fourteen) to 
form in line and in platoons of two and three ; but 
it was not a good place to march in. The real 
business of the occasion, however, was the muster. 

For several days the boys spent all their spare 
time in the woods, building the camp. It had been 
their custom to spend the Fourth of July in camp- 
ing out, taking a picnic with them. This had been 
made impossible this year, on account of the play- 
ing of the great base-ball match. The muster, 
too, was to exceed anything of the kind ever before 
attempted, as the soldiers were to spend the night 
in camp. 

The silent woods resounded with the shouts and 
calls of the busy boys, who worked harder, as Nance 
Grindle grimly said, at the building of a camp in 
the woods than they ever did at any of the home 
tasks, which they regarded with so much disgust 
and horror as the very hardest kind of work ever 
put upon any human being. From the shore was 
brought many a back-load of drift-wood — long 
strips of waste lumber and dry poles, to form the 
frame of the camp. And other back-loads of spruce 
and fir boughs were brought from the adjacent 
groves, to thatch the roof and weave into the sides 
of the structure. 

Four or five small-sized trees, standing as 
nearly as possible in the form of a square, were 
selected as the corner-posts of the camp, and on 
these were nailed the strips of wood and the poles 
gathered on the shore, leaving a space for the open 
door-way. When the frame-work was all nailed in 
place, the affair looked like a big wooden cage. 
But when the fragrant boughs of the fir and spruce 
were woven into the frame, concealing the white- 
ness of the dry and bleached drift-wood, there was 
beheld an arbor of verdure which might well have 
been the green nest of some huge bird, so complete 
and trim was it. 

Inside, the camp (for of course no Fairport boy 
could ever have called this an arbor) was lined with 
soft twigs of hemlock, and a rude bench of rocks 
and shore-worn planks was constructed for the con- 
venience of the girls, who were to visit the camp 
late in the day. No boy was ever allowed to sit on 
these benches, as it was a tradition with the Fair- 
port boys that this would have been effeminate. 

Right merrily worked the boys, the chatter of 
their voices and the ringing of their hatchets making 
music in the depths of the forest. Occasionally, a 
red squirrel paused in his scamper among the trees 
to look down with wonder at the busy creatures 
who were making such a strange din in the midst 
of his haunts ; or a garrulous blue jay perched itself 
at a safe distance and scolded violently at the in- 
truders. And once, an inquisitive mink, one 
of the most timid of animals, stole up from the 




rocky shore to discover the cause of all this com- 
motion in the usually silent woods. 

" A mink ! a mink!" shouted Jo Murch, and 
away he flew after the beautiful little creature. 
The mink darted into the mossy crevices of a ledge 
near at hand, and was gone like a flash. Jo dug 
his hands into the rough cracks of the rock, as if 
he would tear them apart and dig out the animal. 

" Ho ! what a fool Jo Murch is to think that he 
can catch a mink after it has got into that ledge ! " 
cried Pat Adams. 

" You 'd better come here and fix up that brace 

" Ho ! " sneered Jo, " who made you my master, 
I 'd like to know? You can't play petty tyrant on 
me, now, so don't you try it." 

The other boys were aghast at this direct defiance 
of the captain. As for Sam, he felt that his author- 
ity must be maintained at any cost, so he jumped 
down from the roof of the camp, where he had 
been arranging the covering of boughs, and clench- 
ing his brown and pitch-covered hands, he advanced 
toward Jo, stretched at ease on the bed of boughs, 
and before Jo knew what was coming, dealt him a 
smart blow under his left ear. 


you burst off when you started after that critter," 
said Captain Sam, angrily. Now, it must be con- 
fessed that Jo was more partial to running after 
birds and animals than he was to work, even when 
his labor was that of camp-building, so he replied 
surlily and threw himself at full length on a heap 
of spruce-boughs and yawned wearily : 

" My ! how my back aches ! " 

"That's nonsense," said Hi Hatch. "My 
father says that a boy's back never aches. He 
thinks it aches, but it does n't." 

"Well, I don't care," grumbled Jo. "It feels 
just as bad to me as if it really did ache, and I am 
not going to work any more this afternoon, any- 
how. That last back-load of lumber that I lugged 
up from the shore finished me for to-day ! " 

"If you don't do your share of work, you can't 
come to the muster," cried Sam Perkins, who was 
boiling with anger at this breach of discipline. 

"Now, then, I'll give you another, if you call 
me ' petty tyrant ' again." 

Jo, recovering from his surprise, for it was very 
seldom that Sam resorted to violence in the main- 
tenance of discipline, was on his feet in an 
instant. He gave Sam a blow between the eyes 
that made the sparks fly in his brain. But Sam, 
in an instant, got Jo Murch by the collar of his 
short jacket with his right hand, and his left arm 
was twisted about Jo's waist ; his right foot was, 
meantime, busy with Jo's legs, trying to trip him 
to the ground. But Jo was wary and wiry, and it 
was several seconds before he fell heavily to the 
ground, Sam on top. 

The other boys looked on admiringly, but with 
a certain sense of alarm, for this was a real fight, 
and their gallant commander was not always equal 
to Jo Murch, who was known as the best " wrastler" 
in the village. ' 




There was more or less pummeling and scratch- 
ing in the heap of spruce-boughs around which the 
rest of the boys gathered at a respectful distance. 
The two boys fought each other into the open 
ground and then into a clump of low-growing 
juniper, in which they struggled with each other 
in the midst of a cloud of dust which they raised 
from the dry mass of growth. When the combat- 
ants emerged from the confusion and obscurity of 
the juniper-bush, Sam had Jo's head under his 
arm, and was pelting the blows into the back of 
his neck. Presently, Jo, unable to endure this 
punishment any longer, cried: "I beg!" This 
was regarded among the Fairport boys as an equiv- 
alent for " I surrender," and it was not so difficult 
to say. 

Sam unloosed his hold, and, with a farewell kick, 
swung loose of his late adversary and looked at 
him. Somehow, Jo had parted with the greater 
portion of his jacket, and the only part of his cot- 
ton shirt left on him was a stout neck-band of 
unbleached cloth which was buttoned about his 
neck. His aspect of sudden raggedness was sur- 
prising. But Sam had not come out of the 
encounter unscathed. He had been working with- 
out his jacket, but his shirt was now open behind 
as well as before, and his satinet waistcoat was a 
tattered ruin. Blackie picked up the fragments 

(To i, 

and laid them on a convenient rock, while Sam, 
cooled his flushed face at the spring. 

" He 's got a licking that he '11 remember for 
the rest of this season," spluttered Sam, as he 
splashed the cold water into his face. And I '11 
give him another whenever he wants one." 

"Oh, don't let 's fight any more," said Ned 
Martin, with a mingled feeling of awe and admira- 
tion for his gallant commander. 

Jo Murch, gathering up the ragged wreck of his 
garments, after wiping the blood from his face, — for 
he had had a blow on his nose, — scrambled up the 
hillside from the camp, and, shaking his fist at the 
group below, cried: "You fellows may be bullied 
around by that petty tyrant of a captain of yours. 
I wont, and that 's all I 've got to say to him. You 
can fill my place in the Fairport Nine just as soon 
as you please ! So, now ! " And with that, and a 
big rock which he sent crashing through the trees, 
a moment afterward, Jotham Murch was out of the 
camping ground, and out of the Fairport Nine. 

That night, when Sam had gone to bed in dis- 
grace, and his mother had told the whole shame- 
ful story to his father, as she tried to put together 
the wreck of Sam's satinet waistcoat, 'Squire Per- 
kins only said: "Boys are young animals, Polly. 
I s'pose they must fight the brutality out of them 
some time or another." 
continued. ) 


By J. L. W. 

The readers of St. Nicholas who were inter- 
ested in the account of "The Coolest Man in 
Russia," printed in the number for January, 1878. 
may like to hear of another exploit which, for pluck 
and daring, fully equaled that of the young Russian 
officer. This incident occurred in 1847, during 
our war with Mexico, and the hero of it was a boy- 
ish Yankee sergeant, named Kenaday, then about 
nineteen years old. 

In seeking to capture the City of Mexico, the 
American army was obliged to take first the town 
of Churubusco, about six miles from the city. 
After that, the main approach was by a large 
causeway, with a ditch on each side, and, at one 
place, a fortified bridge. So the American forces, 
under General Worth, had to gain the bridge and 
fight upon the causeway ; and, at one point in the 
battle, the General found himself separated from 
a part of his troops, whom he wished to rejoin. 

In the middle of the causeway, among other wreck, 
stood a baggage-wagon, on fire, and, as the General 
and his staff approached the blazing cart, they sud- 
denly discovered that it was laden with gunpowder 1 
They drew up with a start, and waited results very 
anxiously. In a moment, however, Sergeant A. M. 
Kenaday, then of the Third U. S. Dragoons, mo- 
tioned to three of his comrades, and without a word 
the four brave men dashed on to the wagon. 

Although they could not tell how soon one of the 
powder boxes might explode, these men determined 
to clear a passage for their chief. The gunny-bag 
covers of the boxes were smouldering, and some 
of them were already aflame, but Kenaday and 
another soldier mounted into the midst of the blaz- 
ing boxes, and fell to work in dead earnest — quickly 
tossing them one by one to the two other troopers, 
who as quickly rolled them into the wet and muddy 
ditch. Each wooden case, moreover, weighed about 




seventy pounds, so that to empty the cart was no charge, led by General (then Captain) Philip Kear- 

light labor. ny, on the San Antonio gate of the City of Mexico. 

Within a few minutes, the cover of the wagon In this reckless onset, twenty resolute dragoons 

had burned entirely off, and the gallant four, cut their way into the city through six thousand of 


almost exhausted with heat and exertion, were 
soon after stopped by General Worth, who rode 
up to the wagon and ordered them out. This 
command was instantly obeyed, and then the Gen- 
eral and his staff spurred their horses and made a 
rush past the wagon at full gallop, while the sergeant 
and his comrades followed at a pace that soon put 
them out of danger. 

But they had not yet caught up with the Gen- 
eral's party when they heard a loud report behind, 
and looking back, saw no trace of the wagon, even 
when the smoke had cleared. It had been blown 
to atoms by the few cases of powder which they 
had left in it. 

And this was not the only act of bravery per- 
formed that day by the young sergeant, for later 
in the same afternoon he joined in the famous 

the enemy's panic-stricken soldiers. General Scott, 
the American commander-in-chief, said it was the 
bravest charge he had ever seen or read of, and a 
full account of it may be found in almost every 
history of the Mexican War. 

Very different from the young sergeant's powder- 
exploit, but quite worthy to be ranked with it for 
courage and self-sacrifice, was the other deed I 
have to tell about, and which you will find illus- 
trated in the frontispiece. This time, the act of 
bravery was performed by a girl instead of a boy, 
and the powder, instead of making the danger, 
was the very thing which she risked her life to 
save. And the heroine of this story belonged not 
to an invading party, but to a small garrison who 
were besieged and making a desperate defense. 




This is the way it happened : 

Among the important border outposts of the 
Americans, during the war of the Revolution, was 
Fort Henry, situated on a bank of the Ohio River, 
near Wheeling Creek. In 1777, it was suddenly 
attacked by a band of Indians, under the command 
of Simeon Girty, a white man and a Tory, noted 
for his cruel hatred toward the Americans. The 
Indians numbered nearly five hundred, but the 
garrison in the fort were only forty-two, and, soon 
after the siege began, some thirty of these were 
caught in an ambush outside of the fort and slain. 
Only twelve men were now left to Colonel Shep- 
herd, the American commander ; but all these 
were good marksmen, and knowing that surrender 
meant death for their wives and children as well 
as for themselves, they resolved to fight to the 

But, alas ! bravery availed them little, for it was 
not long before the small stock of powder in the 
fort was almost exhausted, and only a few charges 
remained to each man. 

In despair, the Colonel called his brave little 
band together, and told them that at a house 
some sixty yards outside of the fort, which their 
enemies had not yet dared to approach, there 
was a keg of gunpowder. Whoever should try to 
bring it into the fort would be in peril of his life 
from the rifles of the Indians. He had not the 
heart to order any man to such a task, but the 
powder was their only hope, and, therefore, it was 
his duty to ask if any one of them was brave 
enough to volunteer the undertaking. 

Instantly, three or four young men avowed 
themselves ready, but only one man could be 
spared. And while they were generously disputing 
among themselves for the perilous errand, Eliza- 
beth Zane, a girl of seventeen, approached the 
Colonel and begged that she might be allowed to 

go for the powder. Her request was promptly 
refused, but she persisted earnestly, even against 
the remonstrances and entreaties of her parents 
and friends. In vain, they pleaded and reasoned 
with her, urging mora than once that a young 
man would be more likely to succeed, through his 
power of running swiftly. She replied that she 
knew the danger, but that, if she failed, her loss 
would not be felt, while not a single man ought to 
be spared from the little garrison. Finally, it was 
agreed that she should make the first trial. 

When all was ready, the gate opened and Eliza- 
beth walked rapidly across the open space toward 
the house where the powder was stored. Those 
inside the fort could plainly see that the eyes of 
the Indians were upon her, but, either from curi- 
osity or mercy, they allowed her to pass safely and 
to enter the house. 

Her friends drew a breath of relief, and, watch- 
ing even more anxiously for her re-appearance, 
saw her come out soon, bearing the powder 
in a table-cloth tied around her waist. But this 
time the Indians suspected her burden, and in a 
moment more, as she was hastening toward the 
fort, they sent after her a shower of bullets and 
arrows. These all, however, whistled by her harm- 
less, and with wild, startled eyes, but an undaunted 
heart, she sped on with her treasure through the 
deadly missiles, until at last she bore it in triumph 
inside the gate. 

By the aid of the powder and the enthusiastic 
courage which Elizabeth's self-sacrifice inspired, 
the little garrison was enabled to hold out until 
relief came to them. And so this noble act of a 
young girl saved the lives of all within the fort, 
and vanquished its five hundred dusky assailants. 

You will find a fuller account of the incident in 
Mrs. Ellet's Women of the Revolution, from which 
the main facts of this story are taken. 


By Margaret B. Harvey. 

I don't know how it came about — 
I put my sack on wrong side out ; 
I could n't change it back all day, 
Because I 'd drive my luck away. 

And when I went to school, the boys 
Began to shout, and make a noise ; 
But while they plagued me, I sat still, 
And studied spelling with a will ; 
So, when our class the lessons said, 
I did n't miss, but went up head ! 

VOL. VII.— 49. 

As I came home, I looked around 

And soon — a four-leaved clover found ! 

I wished, and put it in my shoe, 

And, don't you think? my wish came true 1 

It was that I might overtake 

The team, and ride with Uncle Jake. 

And so, you see, the livelong day, 

That I was lucky, every way ; 

And Grandma said, without a doubt 

'T was 'cause my sack was wrong side out. 




By Kate Brownlee Horton. 

Grandfather Warne kept the little inn in 
Bakewell, and Patty lived with him. Of course, 
Grandmother Warne lived there, too, for nothing 
would have gone right if she had not been at hand 
to keep the maids busy, and to see that clean, 
fragrant beds, bright fires, and good, wholesome 
food were always ready for the travelers who came 
knocking at the little inn door at all hours of the 
day or night. 

Dame Warne was a famous housekeeper. The 
inn fairly shone within and without, it was so clean ; 
and oh ! what beds ! they really were fragrant. 
The pure white linen sheets and pillow-slips were 
kept in a great oaken "chest of drawers," where 
were always fresh bunches of lavender, rose- 
mary and sweet-marjoram ; and sleeping at the 
"Rutland Arms" seemed almost like sleeping on 
a bed of sweet flowers in some dainty old-time 
garden, only the great feather-beds and pillows of 
eider-down were softer than any flower-beds, and 
the fine rose-blankets warmer than rose leaves 
would be. 

Summer nights in England are rarely too warm 
for a blanket, and sometimes — at the watering- 
places, or near the sea-coast when the night 
breezes blow cool — even a soft, down coverlid is 
needed, in addition. 

Now, you all guess that Bakewell is in England. 
So it is : a quaint little town in Derbyshire, and 
very, very old. It is built partly on a hill sloping 
down to the left bank of the river Wye, one of the 
prettiest, most tranquil little rivers in all England. 
It never foams and tosses along, nor fusses about 
getting to the sea, but turns a laughing, sparkling 
face up to the sun, and ripples so softly and gently 
on its way that it makes one peaceful and happy 
just to wander beside it, as it slips quietly along, 
and watch it kiss' the soft, grassy banks that hold 
it between them. 

That is a wonderful hill, too, where the little 
town lies ; there are so many things inside it. 
Black marble, and coal, and lead, and limestone, 
— all are quarried there; and at the foot of the hill 
are warm chalybeate (look in the dictionary for 
that big word) springs, whose waters cure many 

On the opposite side of the river are the ruins of 
an old, old castle, built in A. D. 924 by Edward 
the Elder. Only think of it ! More than five hun- 
dred years before our country was discovered, that 
old castle was built, and yet there are traces of it 

still to be seen ! I think workmen in those days 
wished their work to last. 

In the very heart of the little town is a curious 
old church, built in Saxon times, hundreds of years 
ago, but as strong and perfect yet as if it intended 
to last forever. It is of dark stone, in the form of 
a cross, and in the niches and corners mosses and 
vines cling closely. 

Within are many ancient and strange monu- 
ments ; some like great stone chests, and lying on 
them, with clasped hands and upturned faces, are 
life-size stone figures of many noble people who 
died long years ago. Perhaps it would frighten a 
little American girl to go into such a church, but 
little Patty loved nothing better than to play 
among the old stone figures, as her mother had 
played when she, too, was a merry little maid. 

There were two figures that Patty liked 
especially, and used to talk to as if they coul'd 
know what she was saying. 

These were pretty Dorothy Vernon and her lover 
husband, Sir John Manners, and they were not 
lying down, but kneeling near a little iron-barred 
window, through which the sunlight fell, making 
soft shadows and playing around them, touching 
their faces as if it, too, were whispering to them 
like Patty. 

Beneath this window was a carved wooden desk, 
with a curious old book of stone lying open upon it. 
Patty said it always made her feel like saying her 
prayers, to go into this little coiner, and sometimes 
she did say them there. Sometimes, too, she 
used to kneel on one corner of the stone chest, 
beside pretty Dorothy, and clasp her own little 
hands before her, — "just to see," as she said, 
" how it must feel to stay there always." 

If I had time I would tell you how, when they 
were alive, pretty Dorothy and handsome Sir John 
dearly loved each other, but were cruelly kept 
apart; and how, one night — when there was a 
grand ball at Haddon Hall, where the Duke of 
Rutland lived — pretty Dorothy stole through one 
of the long windows out to the balcony, where her 
lover was waiting, and, all in her beautiful ball- 
dress of lace and satin, rode off with him to be 
married ; how they never were forgiven, but even 
to this day their stone figures, instead of lying 
calmly sleeping, seem begging for forgiveness. 

But it is too long a story to tell now ; it is only 
because something very strange happened to little 
Patty, just beside them, that 1 tell you this much. 




The little river Wye, and its neighbor, the Der- 
went, are capital fishing streams; so, between the 
anglers who went there to fish, and the patients 
who went to be cured at the springs, the little inn 
was not often empty. And what busy times there 
were when both kinds of visitors happened to be 
there together ! 

Grandmother was not quite so quick on her feet 
as she had been once upon a time, but her tongue 
was as nimble as ever, and her eyes were as bright. 
She seemed to see everything at once, and woe to 
the maid who left dust in the corners, or who 
lagged when the good dame said, " Hasten ! " 

There was always a blazing fire in the kitchen, 
and bacon and eggs, delicious fresh fish, and the 
dainty crumpets, for which the little inn was 
famous, were soon forthcoming, no matter how 
many hungry mouths were to be filled. 

Little Patty used to like the "hurries," as she 
called them, for cook was always best-natured 
when she had the most to do, and was sure to bake 
her a crumpet all for herself as often as she sent a 
dishful in to the guests ; and Patty loved crumpets 

But you must not think she was a greedy little 
girl, who did nothing but eat. No, indeed ! 
Grandmother used to call her her " little feet," she 
was always so ready to wait on her, and run quickly 
wherever she was sent. Her little scarlet cloak 
always hung handy on a peg behind the kitchen 
door, and when anything was wanted, Patty would 
put on this cloak, draw up its little hood over her 
curly head, and be off to the river bridge to buy 
fresh fish from the fishermen, or out to the barn- 
yard to look for eggs. She loved to do errands 
for grandmother, and, no matter how short a time 
she was gone, on her return grandfather would 
always show her into the " home-room " as politely 
as if she were a little guest ; then grandmother 
would kiss her, and hold her hand while she told 
her little story of where she had been and what 
she had seen. 

Besides, she was the only one whom grand- 
mother would trust to bring the silver spoons, 
cream jugs and sugar bowls from the great iron- 
bound chest in grandfather's room, where they 
were always kept locked up for safety. 

Then, she could "lay " the table, as they say in 
Derbyshire, as neatly as the maid, and as quickly, 
too. She always liked to hear grandmother say, 
"Now, little feet, just run and tell Jane you are 
ready first." And grandfather would say, " Hasten, 
my Pit-a-pat." That was his pet name for her. 
Her real name, you must know, was Martha, — 
Martha Grey, her mother's name, — but grandfather 
used to declare that, when she first began to toddle 
after him, her little footsteps on the stone-flagged 

hall and up and down the stone stairway always 
sounded like "pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat"; so he called 
her little Pit-a-pat, and when that seemed too long 
to say, he shortened it to Patty, and that was her 
name ever afterward. 

Perhaps you wonder where Patty's father and 
mother were all this time. Well, I must tell you 
of them. Her mother, who was grandfather 
Warne's only child, had married — against grand- 
mother's earnest wishes — a sick gentleman named 
Mr. Grey, who had come to Bakewell to drink the 
spring waters, and when he had grown better she 
went to live in London with him. But he soon 
became ill again in the close, noisy city, and when 
Patty came, a tiny baby, to live with them, he just 
took one look at her dear little face, kissed his 
wife, and then closed his weary eyes forever. It 
almost seemed as if Patty were a little angel who 
had come from heaven to tell him God was ready 
for him, and, when he had gone, to stay and com- 
fort the poor mother. And, oh ! how this mother 
longed now for her happy, peaceful home in quiet 
Bakewell ! — longed to lay her baby in grand- 
mother's kind, sheltering arms, and her own tired 
head on grandfather's shoulder ! 

Was n't it strange that, when she was wishing 
this so earnestly, grandfather Warne should 
walk into her little room ? Strange, but true, for 
he really did, and, seeming to read at one glance 
all the sad story, he kissed his daughter and bade 
her be comforted : he would do all that was need- 
ful, and then take her home to her mother. 

He was true to his promise. Before very long 
the little home in London had been closed, the 
tiresome journey home was over, and late one 
summer day, when the sun was just kissing the 
hill-tops "good-night," and the little birds had 
sung themselves fast asleep, the one solitary Bake- 
well " fly " rattled up to the door of the little inn, 
and in a moment the poor, sad young mother, and 
the wee, sleepy, pink-faced baby were both held 
close to grandmother Warne's loving heart, — as 
closely as if she never meant to let them go. 

For a while poor Mrs. Grey was contented, but 
then she grew restless and unhappy, and at last, 
one day, she said, " I must go back to London and 
work — work, or I shall die." 

Grandmother, looking at her, knew she was 
right, so said, "Go, dear child; we will keep the 
baby and bring her up well for you; only remem- 
ber this is home, and come back to it if the world 
is hard to you." 

So Mrs. Grey went back to London; and the 
years rolled on. There were occasional letters, and 
one or two short, hurried visits, when little Pit-a-pat 
toddled after her mother, holding her gown and 
lisping pretty baby words to her. But the old rest- 

74 8 



lessne'ss always came back, and even the loving baby 
hands could not hold their mother when an invisible 
cord seemed drawing her back to London, where, 
amid all the noise and turmoil, her dear husband 
was sleeping so peacefully. 

when she was in pain the quaint country ballads 
and songs she had learned when she was a blithe 
little country maiden. 

Grandmother was very glad to receive such good 
tidings ; especially glad because there was a check 


At last came a letter, saying she had found a good for five pounds in the letter, and now little Patty, 

home as com panion and nurse to a rich lady, whose who was growing out of all her clothes so fast, could 

riches could not make her happv, though, for she have nice new ones. 

was always ill. But Patty's mother was a good " I '11 make this dress long enough," said grand- 
nurse, and helped the poor lady, and sang to her mother, who was very old-fashioned in her ideas ; 



and she did make the pretty new brown dress down 
to the very tops of the little low button-shoes; but 
that was nothing, for, as Patty said, her old one was 
so long that it did not matter whether she wore 
any stockings or not. But she did wear stockings 
always, — nice warm scarlet ones that grandmother 
knit for her. 

Besides, she now had a new scarlet cloak, for the 
old one was entirely too short. I wish you could 
have seen her in that new cloak, with its pretty 
hood. She had a cunning little way of holding her 
head on one side and looking up out of her bright 
eyes, and of hopping along when she was in a hurry, 
that made one think of a robin red-breast, and if 
her name had not been Patty, it should certainly 
have been "little red-bird." 

After the money-letter came, there was no news 
from Mrs. Grey for a long time. Grandmother be- 
gan to grow worried, and grandfather would have 
gone at once to London to see what the matter was 
if he had not been so lame with the rheumatism that 
his knees were all swollen out of shape, and he could 
only just hobble around with the help of his cane. 

At last, one day, some dreadful news came tiying 
from London. It seemed that the rich lady with 
whom Mrs. Grey lived had missed a curious, old- 
fashioned bead purse, with ten guineas in one end 
and some silver half-crowns in the other; and, 
having no one especially to accuse, she declared that 
Patty's mother had taken it ; and appearances were 
so much against her that poor Mrs. Grey was put 
in prison till the money should be paid back. 

Of course she could not pay it, and although she 
was really and truly innocent, she could not prove 
it, and so was too heart-broken and ashamed to write 
to grandfather Warne and ask him to help her; 
and the news that came to Bakewell was that 
Patty's mother had stolen a great deal of money 
from her mistress, and was in jail for it. 

" It happened ever so long ago," said the neigh- 
bor who brought the ill tidings; "she has been 
a weary while in the prison, poor lass." 

What dreadful news to enter that happy little 
home ! Grandmother was made so wretched by 
it that all that day she sat in her big chair in the 
chimney corner, moaning as if her heart would 
break, while grandfather wandered through the 
house in spite of his aching knees, and grieved 
because he was so helpless to aid Patty's poor 
mother. You see, they did not believe their child 
would do anything so wicked, but they were 
troubled because they could not help her. 

As for little Patty, no one could bear to tell her 
what had happened : only cook caught her in her 
arms as she was running through the kitchen, gave 
her two fresh crumpets, and kissed her, saying: 

" Ah, poor little one ! Thy mother will be a sad 

shame to thee now ; she has done a dreadful 

"You naughty cook!" cried Patty, ablaze in a 
moment; "how dare you say bad things about 
my dear, far-away mother?" and she threw the 
crumpets down on the freshly sanded floor, and 
ran away sobbing to the old church, to tell her dear 
Dorothy all her trouble. Then she knelt by the 
old desk, and, folding her little hands, said : 

" Dear God, please bring my mother home, so 
I may be like the little girls who have their 
mothers all the time." 

That made her feel better, for she believed her 
prayer would be answered soon. 

But she could not help sobbing a little as she 
thought how unhappy she would be if anything 
happened to her dear mother; and thought, too, 
that she never, never could forgive cook for speak- 
ing so; but, even as she was thinking, she fell fast 
asleep, with her head pillowed against her Dorothy, 
and in happy dreams forgot her sorrows. 

When she awoke, the sun was taking his last 
look in at the little window, and Patty knew by the 
shadows in the corner that it must be past tea- 
time. She was rubbing her eyes wide enough 
open to see the way home, when the little door at 
the other end of the church opened, and some one 
entered softly. For a moment Patty was fright- 
ened, and her heart went pit-a-pat so loudly she 
almost thought some one was calling her, and she 
crouched down behind Dorothy's stone chest, trem- 
bling, as she heard footsteps approaching. 

Looking out from her hiding-place, she saw a 
woman's figure ! A large gray shawl completely 
covered her dress, and on her head was a silk hood 
that shaded her face so Patty could hardly see it. 
As she reached the little desk, she knelt, and, push- 
ing back her hood impatiently, as if it choked her, 
she clasped her hands before her and sighed bit- 
terly. Then Patty saw her face and oh ! what a 
great jump her heart gave as she saw it was her 
mother ! But how sad the face was ! So pale and 
care-worn, and the eyes so wild that Patty was 
frightened and could not speak, but only looked, 
and wondered if that was really her own dear 
mother. Soon she knew, for the mother sobbed 
out: "Oh! for one look at my darling Patty's 
face ! I want my little one just to hold and kiss, 
as I used to, long ago ; " and she covered her face 
in her hands and cried bitterly. 

Just then she felt two soft arms creep around 
her neck, while a warm little face was pressed close 
to hers, and a sweet voice whispered in her ear : 

" Look up, dear mother ! Here is your little 
Patty, waiting to kiss you ! " 

Then, you may be sure, the mother looked up, 
took Patty in her arms, and held her so close to 




her heart it was almost painful, while she said, as 
she kissed the little upturned face: "My child, 
will you turn from me when you know I have 
been in prison? They know I am innocent now 


that the purse is found, those cruel people, but I 
can never be free from the taint of that dreadful 
prison till I wash it away in the river. I must go 
now, my baby, — the river is calling me ; kiss father 
and mother for me ; I cannot see them ! " 

Then she kissed her child again and again as if 
she could not part from her, while her eyes grew so 
wild that Patty trembled ; but she clung to her 
mother, and said, bravely : 

"Come, mother, we '11 both go and see poor 
grandmother, who has cried all day." 

So the sweet voice coaxed, and the little hands 
drew the almost frantic mother down the aisle, out 
through the church-door into the quiet street that 
led direct to the little inn. 

"Look at me, mother," the child said, as they 
neared the foot-path that led down to the river. 
Her wise little head told her there was danger 
there ; and her bright eyes looked up with all her 
loving heart shining out through them, and so held 
the mother's glance till the river lay behind them, 
and the little inn was close at hand. Just a few steps 
more and it was reached. Still holding her mother 
closely, Patty opened the door, and they stood before 
the poor old weeping couple. 

Before any words could be spoken, Mrs. Grey 
fell, ill and fainting, at her mother's feet. Fortu- 
nately, there was a wise doctor from London stay- 
ing at the little inn. Grandfather called him 
quickly, and the sick mother was well cared for. 
The doctor whispered "brain-fever" to grand- 
mother, and shook his head as if it were very bad 
indeed. But he was wise and skillful, and after a 
time had his patient better, and up again, weak 
but in her right mind, which was the best of all. 

Little Patty was a devoted nurse ; her mother 
could not bear to miss her even for a few moments, 
so it was many weeks before she had a chance to 
run down to the old church and tell pretty Dorothy 
how happy she was now; how her dear mother was 
well again, and was never going away, but that 
they — four people, grandfather and grandmother 
Warne, little Patty and her mother — were going 
to live happily together forever in the little inn. 

That was a good many years ago. Patty is grown 
up now — a pretty, sweet-faced maid of eighteen; and 
when I was at the " Rutland Arms," not so very long 
ago, I slept in one of the sweet, fragrant beds, and 
in the morning I had crumpets for breakfast that 
Patty herself had made. While she waited on me, 
she told me how happy they all were in the little 
inn, and what care her mother took of the two old 
people, who were too feeble to do anything but sit 
in their big chairs, one at each side of the fire-place, 
and talk and nod cheerfully to each other. 

After breakfast, we went to the old church, and 
Patty showed me pretty Dorothy, and the desk 
where her mother had knelt that sad night. 

"If I had not been there," said Patty, gravely, 
" I fear my mother really would have drowned her- 
self. The doctor said she was wild with the fever 
then ; " and she added, shyly, " I often come yet 
and talk to my Dorothy," and she looked lovingly 
at her stone friend. 

Then I had to say "good-bye," and I have 
never seen her since ; but I have no doubt that to 
this day Patty lives in the little inn, and still goes 
and tells her joys and sorrows to " pretty Dorothy." 





By Maria R. Oakey. 











Fred-dy's mam-ma oft-en read to him from his pict-ure- 
books, and in one there was a pict-ure of a hawk car-ry-ing °s 
off a lit-tle spar-row. &, 

Fred-dy liked that pict-ure ver-y much, and he used 
to tell his mam-ma how he would shoot that wick-ed 
hawk and set the lit-tle spar-row free. 

One day, when he was play-ing in the gar-den, the '^^W^^f 
gar-den-er told him that he had a fine se-cret to tell him, 
and some-thing to show him, be-sides. 

" Is it a ripe black-ber-ry ? " said Fred-dy. 

" No ; it 's ev-er so much bet-ter than that," said the ;> . 


Fred-dy could n't think of any-thing bet-ter, for he 
looked ev-er-y day at the black-ber-ries and it seemed 
as if they nev-er would get ripe, and he had prom-ised 
his mam-ma nev-er to eat a green one. 

But the gar-den-er took Fred-dy to a great li-lac 
bush, and pulled aside the branch-es, and there, hid-den 
a-mong the leaves and flow-ers, was a lit-tle nest with 
young birds in it ! Fred-dy could see each lit-tle feath-er- 
less bird with wide-o-pen beak, when the gar-den-er lift- 
ed him up. 

" Where 's the mam-ma bird?" said Fred-dy, look-ing 
all a-round the bush. 

"There she is, on that tree," said the gar-den-er. 
" She is watch-ing for her mate, who has gone to get the 
young birds' din-ner. See her now ; here she comes 
fly-ing and cry-ing. We 've fright-ened her. We 'd 
bet-ter go a-way." 

" You go a-way," said Fred-dy, " but let me stand here ver-y still 
by this tree and watch for the pa-pa bird. I want to see him, too." 

As Fred-dy was stand-ing watch-ing for the pa-pa bird, he heard a cry 
from the mam-ma bird, and, look-ing up, he saw a great hawk in the 
air and sweep-ing down to-ward the nest. 

Fred-dy thought of the pict-ure in the book, and as he had n't any 
gun to shoot the hawk, he be-gan to scream and throw stones at it, 





and at last fright-ened it a-way. The hawk kept com-ing back a-gain, but 
Fred-dy watched for it and al-ways drove it a-way ; and by and by, I sup- 
pose the hawk thought that he should al-ways find that lit-tle gi-ant watch- 
ing the nest, and so he flew a-way to find some-thing else to eat. He 
did not e-ven come back the next day. 

But Fred-dy used to watch the nest ev-er-y day, till the young birds 
were able to fly a-way, just as their pa-pa and mam-ma did. 

At last, when the young birds were gone, the gar-den-er took the emp-ty 
nest out of the li-lac-bush and gave it to Fred-dy, who kept it in his nur-ser-y. 


Lit-tle Pop-ple-de-Pol-ly 
Said: "See my new Dol-ly ! 

With her boo-ti-ful, pop-o-pen eyes ; 
But I can't make her speak, 
Though I Ve tried for a week ; 

And when-ev-er I hug her, she cries ! " 





Tim is on-ly sev-en years old, but he can help his fa-ther weed the 
gar-den and can do ma-ny use-ful things. One day, his moth-er sent him to 
the store to get a fish for sup-per, and he took her work-bas-ket to car-ry it 
in. When he came back he saw old Tab-by and her three kit-tens lap-ping 
some milk out of a pan on the step of the tool-house. 

"Stop, Tab-by!" he cried. "You drink too fast! The kit-ties can't get any." 

He set down his bas-ket, took the milk a-way from the old cat and gave 
it to the kit-tens. Tab-by did not care, for she smelt the fish. She tipped 
the bas-ket o-ver, rolled out the ap-ple which a man had giv-en to Tim, 
and took the fish in her teeth. She did not like the fiow-ers which Tim 
had picked for his moth-er. She kept her eyes fixed on him, hop-ing to get 
a-way with the fish be-fore he saw her. But Tim caught her just in time. 

When he told his moth-er, she said that Tab-by had a right to what she 
found on that step, for that was the cat's sup-per-ta-ble. Then she gave him 
a fish-bas-ket for his own, and told him to try not to be so care-less again. 






VACATION 'S begun ! The good times are here, 
— times to let little heads rest from books and 
to give little hearts a freer chance to grow sweet 
and loving. 

My meadow never was fresher nor brighter 
than now. By the way, the birds have made 
friends with the bumble-bees, I think. At any rate, 
here 's a message that I found on my pulpit this 
morning, from E. S. C, whose real name seems 
to be Sir Bumble-Bee. But what is this he says 
about growing smaller as he became older ? 
Does n't Sir Bumble deceive himself? 

Only listen now to this : 


" Hum-m-m ! I was far from home, good sir, — 
Hum-m-m ! — in some lilies busy working, 

When I felt a sudden shock — 

On my back an awful knock — 
And my poor head went a-jerking ! 

" Hum-m-m ! 'T was an upstart humming-bird, — 
Hum-m-m ! — who gave me that hard thumping, 

With the great long lance, his bill. 

But he 's only roused my will, 
And soon 1 '11 set him jumping. 

" Hum-m-m ! When I 'm strong, some sunny day, — 
Hum-m-m ! — I '11 prick him quick as winking ! 

He shall have a chance to see 

That a knightly Bumble-Bee 
Can do some powerful thinking ! 

" Hum-m-m ! Lady Bumble waits for me, — 
Hum-m-m ! — So now I 'm off — no moping — 
Or my children, plump and tall, — 
Since 1 've grown so old and small — 
May pine with anxious hoping. 
Hum-m-m ! 

Good-day ! " 


"The Bechuanas of South Africa don't carry 
pipes and cigars about with them," says Deacon 
Green ; " but when they want to smoke, they make 

a pipe on the spot, even if it be in the heart of a 
wilderness. A spot of earth is moistened and into 
it a green twig is stuck, bent into a half-circle, the 
bend being in the earth, and the two ends of the 
twig coming out. With their knuckles, the Bechu- 
anas knead the moist earth down upon the twig, 
and the twig is worked back and forth till a clear 
hole is made. Then one end of the hole is en- 
larged for the tobacco-bowl, and the twig is with- 
drawn. The smoker gets on his knees and palms, 
lights the tobacco in the bowl, puts his lips to the 
small end of the hole, and draws in the smoke. 
When one man has smoked as much as he wishes, 
the bowl is refilled and another takes his place. 

" I do not recommend the Bechuana plan to my 
unfortunate American friends who smoke tobacco," 
adds the outspoken Deacon, in his dry manner; 
"and I am not sure that I know of an American 
method of smoking tobacco that can be recom- 
mended to the Bechuanas." 


SOMEBODY once saw in Italy, on the ground, 
what looked like a little nest of spiders' eggs, mov- 
ing along. A sharp glance, however, showed an 
untidy, fluffy ball, the size of a large pea, carried 
by some creature about a quarter of an inch long. 

But, my dears, you need n't go away to Italy to 
find insect rag-pickers. Look in your raspberry 
patches, when the red-caps, black-caps and yellow- 
caps are ripening, and you will see some. They 
gather and carry scraps of fiber, gauze of fly-wings, 
dried flower-petals, and other ragged shreds, hold- 
ing them on with the long hairs that grow upon 
their bodies. 

Ordinary persons know these insects by the 
name "raspberry geometer," but if you are par- 
ticular about calling them by their book-name, you 
must say Synchlora ntbivoraria. 

Now, why do these little fellows go about dis- 
guised in that way? It surely cannot be because 
they think the rags and tatters will hide them from 
the birds who might eat them ? Why, a bird from 
a tree-top will see a hair in the road-dust, and pick 
it up to fill some remembered chink in its nest ! 

May be, these rag-pickers bundle up so as to make 
themselves disagreeable morsels for birds to swal- 
low ? And may be they do it just to tease, and set 
everybody to asking questions about them. 


Dear Mr. Jack : Once I cut out from a newspaper a little piece 
about keeping cut flowers fresh for a long time, and I followed the 
directions and succeeded beautifully, only the heliotrope did not keep 
well. But mignonette stayed fresh for ever and ever so long. I 
have the newspaper scrap yet, and I send it to you for other little 
girls to try. — Your true friend, Sadie Hunter. 

" Pour water into a flat dish. Stand a vase of 
cut flowers in the dish, and over it put a bell-glass, 
so that its rim comes beneath the water and rests 
on the dish. The flowers will remain fresh for a 
long time, because the air about them, being shut 
in by the bell-glass, is kept moist by the vapor that 
rises from the water. The vapor turns to water 
again, and runs down the sides of the bell-glass 

J AC K - 1 N - T 1 1 E - P U L P I T . 


into the dish. The water in the dish must always 
be kept higher than the rim of the bell-glass." 


INSECTS are not the only beings who do queer 
things with rags, it seems. A party of travelers 
passing along a road near the west coast of Cey- 
lon, were surprised to see that the bushes beside 
the road for miles and miles had all kinds of rags 
hung upon them. The guides said that the rags 
had been hung there by native travelers, so as to 
keep the goddess Kali in a good humor, and per- 
suade her to guard them from robbers and 
accidents while on the road. 

surface of the tube is of perfectly smooth glass, but 
the outside looks like a shriveled vegetable-stalk. 

Not long after this discovery, two men of science 
in Paris undertook to make similar tubes, but with 
man-made electricity instead of Nature's lightning. 
They took some finely powdered glass, passed 
through this the strongest current of electricity they 
could make, and produced a tube an inch long ! 

The traveler was told of this, and wrote : 

"When we learn that the strongest electric battery in Paris was 
used, and that its p'bwer on a substance so easily melted as glass 
could only form a tube so small, we must feel greatly astonished at 
the force that must be in a shock of lightning, which, striking the 
sand, is able to form a tube thirty feet long, with a bore of an inch 
and a half. — and this in quartz-sand, a material very hard to melt." 

** " Oh, dear. Mr. Jack-in-the-Pi'lpit, I do love vacation ever so much. It is so nice to swing in the 
hammock and never have to think whether it 's school-time or not. I often have real nice dreams in the ham- 
mock. ' — (Extract/rom a little girl's letter.) 


SINCE the telegraph wires were put up in our 
meadow, my friends the birds have brought me 
plenty of news about electricity. 

Here, now, is a curious fact: 

A man traveling in South America over some 
sand-hillocks came across a number of flint-like 
tubes buried in the loose quartz-sand. On inquiry, 
he learned that these tubes had been made by 
lightning, and that, if he cared to wait there long 
enough, he might possibly see the process. But, 
feeling uncertain whether he or the sand would be 
struck first, he was content to be told that the 
lightning falls upon and bores into the sand, melt- 
ing it very suddenly, and leaving it so quickly that 
it soon sets, and cools into a flinty glass tube, 
seven or eight or even thirty feet long. The inner 


My Dkar Jack-in-the-Pulpit : In your May number you state 
that you have heard of two big trees in Australia, one of them being 
four hundred and thirty-five feet high, the other four hundred and 
fifty. I have read of a tree still taller. A pamphlet published by 
the Agricultural Department here in Washington, speaks of a Eu- 
calyptus A viygdalina of Australia as having reached the height of 
five hundred feet, which is one hundred and forty-six feet higher than 
the dome of the Invalides, in Paris, thirty-three feet higher than the 
arrow of the cathedral of Strasburg, twenty-eight feet higher than the 
spire of St. Nicholas, at Hamburg, and twenty feet higher than the 
pyramid of Cheops, which, I have read somewhere, is the tallest 
structure in the world. 

Now, it seems to me, this tremendous fellow must be the tallest 
tree that can be found, — a tree which will actually cast a shadow on 
the summit of the Great Pyramid! 

Although the Eucalyptus A mygdalina may be the tallest tree in 
the world, it is not the biggest, as the trunk of the Eucalyptus Globu- 
lus is much thicker through. This big tree yields immense planks of 
fine timber. 

One of these trees supplied a plank t6t feet long, and thick and wide 
in proportion, which Australia wished very much to send to the Lon- 
don Exhibition of l8b2, but, as no ship could be found big enough to 
carry it, the plan was given up. — Yours truly, A Reader. 






Contributors are respectfully informed that, between the ist of 
July and the 15th of September, manuscripts cannot conveniently be 
examined at the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, contributors 
who wish to favor the magazine will please postpone sending their 
articles until after the last-named date. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I thought I would write to you about the 
Indian arrow-heads which we find in this neighborhood. Sometimes 
they are from an inch to two or three inches in length. They are 
sometimes very narrow, thin and sharp, and sometimes broad and 
blunt. There is one place on our farm where I think the Indians 
made them, for we find stones that have had pieces chipped off 
them on all sides, and pieces and splinters or flakes of stone. 

Generally, arrow-heads are made of the common white-flint rock, 
but sometimes of the black rock or iron-stone, as it is called. 

The greater the number of points to a head the handsomer it is 
considered. It is not often that one finds one with more than three 
points. Not long ago, I found a perfect black one with five points. 

I am fourteen years old. Bertie L. Green. 

P. S. — Papa says lie thinks they are not made of flint rock, but of 

Bertie, and others interested in stone arrow-heads, and similar curi- 
ous relics of the former dwellers in America, will find an illustrated 
article on the subject in St. Nicholas for April, 187S; the title is, 
"How the Stone-Age Children Played." 

Charley and Patty. — In an article on school luncheons, in St. 
Nicholas for September, 1877, you probably will find just the 
information you need. It would be a good thing, perhaps, if your 
school would adopt the plan lately instituted by two of the best boys'- 
schools in New York. In these the boys are provided with a 
regular lunch every day at noon ; not a fancy lunch, nor one to be 
eaten at a swallow and in some out-of-the-way corner, but a good, 
warm, substantial little meal, tempting but simple; and the happy 
fellows sit around a table where they may laugh without horrifying 
anybody, and where courtesy prevails as a matter of course. The 
expense to the pupils is very slight, and is much to he preferred to 
the paying of doctors' bills and the varied ills following wretched 
luncheons of pie, cake, candy and other unwholesome things too 
common among school children in these days. 

February, 1880. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I read about the Englishman and French- 
man in your March number, and how they disputed as to their 

languages, and, as I wont allow that anything English is superior to 
French (I mean English, not American), 1 thought I 'd tell this 

Two men, an Englishman and a Frenchman, each the greatest talker 
of his race, were shut up for a week together to see which would out- 
talk the other. At the end of the week the Englishman was dead on 
the floor, and the Frenchman was stooping down and whispering in 
his ear. I always did like the French better than the English, any- 

I have a cat and my sister has one, too, just like it, and they are 
awfully cunning. Papa and I have a little bossy; her name is Jersey 
Durham; I adore her, but mamma says she does n't see how I can 
love a bossy ; but it 's very easy to love this one. She likes papa and 
I best of any one. I go out every night to feed her, and sometimes 
in the morning. She has a real pretty face and is just as independent 
as she can be. Papa and I stand there as patiently as can be while 
she drinks a swallow of water, and looks around as leisurely as you 
please. We never think of asking her to hurry. 

I think I wont write any longer. — From Lilian Gold. 

Two months ago, or rather four, as it is now the first of May. 
Now, my little bossy is awful sick, and we are tending her carefully. 
The little thing ate a lot of paint and we gave her medicine. Then 
papa thought she took cold. The fellow that doctors her 
thinks she doesn't need milk in her porridge, but papa insists on it, 
and I know it 's good for her. I woke early this morning and 
thought: " I know Jersey is dead by this time," then I went to sleep 
again and dreamed she was getting well, and when I woke up again 
I was as sure she was n't dead as I was before that she was. 

I think she is getting well. too. — Good-bye, Lili Gold. 

P. S. — I see in one part of this that I said "papa and I." Excuse it, 
please. I wont ask you to print such a long letter as this, only as 1 
don't owe any one a letter, you are nice to write and tell things to. 

C. A. S — An item in the 
tell you how raisins are made 

" Letter-Box" for January, 1879, will 

Dear St. Nicholas: There is, in the south-west of our country, 
a giant, about which I want to tell your " Letter-Box " readers. Don't 
imagine an immense man with a wide mouth and great rolling eyes, 
carrying an enormous spear, like the pictures of the famous Goliath 
of Gath. This giant of which I write does not look at all like a man. 
It is one of the United States. 

In order to gain an idea of size we must compare the object with 
some other familiar thing. If you look carefully at the picture of a 
mountain, you will generally discover somewhere in it the figure of a 
man, a house, or a deer, perhaps. The artist placed it there for you 
to compare the mountain with it, and so gain a better idea of the size 
of the mountain. 

Suppose we compare this giant State with some other State. Try 
Pennsylvania. _ will take five Pennsylvania!; to equal it! 
Indeed, this giant is bigger than all the Middle and Eastern States 




put together. It has pasture lots of twenty thousand acres, with 
miles and miles of fencing. Its flower gardens cover acres upon 
acres; all the gardens and yards in your town put together will not 
equal one of its verbena beds in size. Even the spiders in this great 
State are giant spiders, some of them being as large as a tea-cup or 
even a saucer. This giant is so rich that it has eighty-nine million 
acres of land to give away. 

It is one of the United States; but it was not bought from some- 
body, nor was it ceded, that is, given by somebody, as were the 
other States, excepting the original thirteen. It came into the Union 
of its own free will. 

Giants, you know, mskc long strides and accomplish great things 
in a short time. So this one builds cities as by magic. You may 
stand on one of its prairies and see nothing but waving grass, far to 
where the sky meets earth; returning in six months to the same spot, 
you will find a city, with stores, hotels, churches and schools; find 
busy people hurrying to and fro; merry children on their way to 
school, all looking as though their home had been there for years. 

The name of this giant State signifies, according to some persons, 
"roof" or "roof-tiles"; according toothers, "friends." 

The name itself I have not mentioned, because I want to let your 
readers guess it. Mab. 

some in a field, and put them under a hen. The hen and the woman 

were both very much surprised when the little alligators hatched out! 

Your little friend, Winnie S. Gibbs. 

W. H. P. sends word that the dog whose picture appeared in the 
April "Letter-Box" is a black Irish setter, called "Bobbie," the 
property of Mr. C. C. G., a gentleman in Eldora, Iowa, and the 
father of the boy referred to in the letter printed with the picture. 
The dog in the picture had on Mr. G's hat and ulster and the photog- 
rapher's spectacles. \V. H. P. adds: "Every one who knows 
' Bobbie ' recognized his portrait in the ' Letter- Box. ' " 

Galveston, Texas. 
Dear St. Nicholas: In answer to the question of Miss Carrie 
Snead in the " Letter-Box " of your May number, I reply that the 
leaves of the trees in Australia do not expose their flat surfaces to the 
sun, because his rays are too burning, and the leaves would dry up 
very quickly if they were too bold. C. W. 

Lillie (Philadelphia), Anna H. Wierum, and everybody 
else. — Always send your full postal address when writing to St. 
Nicholas; — not to be printed, but so that, if there should be no 
room in the "Letter-Box" for an answer, a written reply may be 
sent to you by mail. 

Dear St. Nicholas : In reading the April number of the maga- 
zine I was much interested by the account of "The dear little deer," 
and thought I would like to get one. Could you tell me if they can 
be got anywhere in New York, or if they are very expensive? I 
would not even mind the brown instead of white, if only I could get 
one of them for a pet. I suppose those men who sell curious birds 
and animals would not keep them? — Your very devoted reader, 

Rhita Handcock. 

To this letter Mr. D. C. Beard, who owned the "Dear Little 
Deer " at the time of its death, replies: 

There is not, I believe, a single live specimen of the pigmy musk or 
mouse-deer now in the United States. The one I had, a picture of 
which I made for St. Nicholas, is the only living one I have ever 
seen. White ones are exceedingly rare, and one of them would cost 
a very great deal of money. There is now, or there was a few monlhs 
since.a specimen of a larger species of this deer at the Zoological Garden 
in Philadelphia. The captain of the ship "Janet Furgeson " has 
promised to bring me over some more of the mouse-deer upon his 
next trip from Singapore, though it is extremely doubtful whether 
or not they will live until the ship reaches America. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am going to tell you about a wolf. The 
other day a man brought to a livery-stable in our city, Lincoln, Neb., 
a little baby prairie-wolf that did not have its eyes open. An old cat 
that had her kittens up in a hay-loft heard it crying, came down, 
picked it up, carried it in her mouth to the loft and put it with her 
kittens, and has nursed and taken care of it ever since. The baby 
wolf and kittens are living happily together, but I expect there will 
be trouble after a while ; what do you think ? Daisy C. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Alligators' eggs are a little larger than 
hens' eggs. Not long ago a newspaper said that a woman found 

L. M. P. and others. — In answer to your letters about the 
June frontispiece, entitled "The Home of the Herons," we will 
tell you a little about the birds themselves. 

The species represented in the picture is the largest of the heron 
family, — the Great Blue Heron (Ardea lierodias), — found in almost 
all parts of temperate North America. 

The average height of the Great Blue Heron is about three and a 
half to four feet, and its expanded wings measure from tip to tip 
nearly six feet. The tail is comparatively short, and is almost hidden 
by the folded wings. 

The Great Blue Heron is of rather darker colors than the other 
members of its group, of which the chief color is a steel-gray. The 
head is black, with a white spot at the base of the bill ; and protrud- 
ing several inches behind is a plume of long, slender feathers, two of 
which are much longer than the others. Grayish-white, slender 
feathers are also seen upon the lower neck, breast and shoulders. 
The long neck is covered with soft, light-brown feathers, and extend- 
ing down its entire front is a pure white streak or stripe. The edges 
of the wings and the upper portions of the legs are of a beautiful rich 
brown, and the under parts are almost entirely black, with streakings 




of white. The eyes and bill are yellowish, and the legs and soft 
integument at the base of the bill are uf a grayish green. 

The young of the Great Blue Heron never possess the head 
plumes, and the adults only have them during the breeding season. 

These birds stalk about in search of food in thjs shallow water, or 
stand silently in one spot until some fish or lizard comes within reach 
of their long necks, when — with a sudden thrust of their spear-like 
beaks — they pierce the victim, which seldom eludes their aim. The 
Great Blue Heron sometimes eats the young of small water-birds, 
such as sandpipers and snipes, which have unluckily wandered too 
near them. 

The Great Blue Heron's nest is simply a flattened heap of sticks 
and small twigs. This bird seldom lays more than three eggs, and 
these are of a uniform pale-bluish tint, somewhat larger than a hen's. 
The young do not learn to fly until nearly full grown ; they differ 
from the adult birds, during the first year, in being much darker in 
plumage, and the females are always smaller than the males. 

and fawned upon him. The King of Spain saw this wonderful 
invention, and was delighted beyond measure. 'The gentleness of 
my dog,' said Drez, ' is his least merit; if your majesty touch one of 
these apples in the shepherd's basket, you will admire the animal's 
fidelity.' The King took an apple ; whereupon the dog flew at him, 
barking so loudly that a live dog, which was in the room, joined in 
the chorus. The King became frightened, and withdrew, only one 
courtier daring to stay. He, wanting to know what time it was, 
asked Drez, who referred him to the negro. He asked the negro in 
Spanish, but Drez remarked that perhaps he had not yet learned 
that language. Thereupon the courtier questioned him in French, 
and then the negro replied correctly. This brave courtier then 
became frightened, and he, too, left." Yours truly, X. Y. Z. 

C. H. T., White Plains. — Yourcard is interesting, but, of course, 
it cannot be printed until you have sent word to the "Letter-Box," 
describing exactly how the animal hanged itself, and giving your full 
name and postal address. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We have lived out west for four years, and 
one summer we had twenty-one prairie-dogs. I have had seven 
sitting on my lap at once, all eating. I saw in " Jack " for February 
something about animals which do not drink water: it said that 
prairie-dogs do not, which is a mistake, for we had a ditch running 
through our yard, and I have often seen our Billy drink 

The prairie-dogs got to be a nuisance, so papa turned the water 
from the ditch into their burrow; it ran in for thirty-six hours without 
stopping, and we could hear it echoing nearly all the way down. 

Billy would come into the house and drag things down his hole. 
Some dogs killed him last summer. 

I am twelve years old, and I live at Cheyenne Depot Your 
constant reader, Julia G. 

P. S. It is supposed that the prairie-dogs dig these holes down to 

Who Can Solve This Puzzle? 
Dear St. Nicholas: Never having seen the inclosed puzzle 
printed, I send it to you. 

The square contains thirty-six small squares. The object is to 
place six dots, one in a square, so that no two of them will be in the 
same line vertically, horizontally or diagonally. — Yours truly, 


Nettie Stevens. — Celluloid is the name of a pale yellow, trans- 
parent substance resembling some kinds of gum. It is light, hard 
and elastic, and is insoluble in water. The method of making it was 
discovered about ten years ago, and it began to be manufactured 
about six years ago, and is now made in very great quantities both 
here and in Europe. It is made by treating a certain kind of soft 
tissue-paper in acids till it is reduced to a soft pulp. It is then treated 
with camphor by a chemical process, and the material when finished 
is the celluloid so much used in place of ivory. It may be colored to 
resemble coral, tortoise-shell, malachite and many other natural sub- 
stances, and in the form of piano keys, billiard balls, handles of all 
kinds, cuffs and collars, jewelry, harness mountings and hundreds of 
other things, it may be seen in almost every store in the country. 
It was thought at one time to be explosive, but it is now said to be no 
more dangerous nor inflammable than the paper and camphor out of 
which it is made. Celluloid is one of the most remarkable triumphs 
of chemistry in imitating natural substances like shell and ivory. 

Dear St. Nicholas: In the February article on automata, the 
author describes a wonderful clock made by a German ; I want to 
tell the readers of St. Nicholas of a still more wonderful clock, of 
which I have read. It was made by one Drez, of Geneva. " On it 
were seated a negro, a shepherd, and a dog. When the clock struck, 
the shepherd played six tunes on his flute, and the dog approached 

The Game of Fifteen; with One Solution of the Puzzle. 

Mr. and Mrs. Hospitalitv satin their comfortable parlor. Miss 
Despondent lay on the lounge, deeply interested in a small square 
box which she held in her hand. She lay in a listless attitude with 
her eyes half closed, occasionally giving the box a shake and utter- 
ing a sigh. 

At last, she said: " I can't do it." 

"Then," said Mrs. Hospitality, "do put it down, and don't bother 
about it any more." 

" But I must do it. 1 cannot leave it this way ! And yet," said 
poor Miss Despondent, " I do not know how." 

It was the " Game of Fifteen." 

Miss Despondent, in an evil moment, had bought one. She had 
now got it all right but the last line, which came 13 — 15 — 14. She 
had been at it for two hours without speaking, which was not polite 
in a guest, but then, one must make every allowance for the slaves 
of 13— 14— 15. 

Mr. and Mrs. Hospitality lived in Boston, and Miss Dorothy 
Despondent was visiting them. It was six o'clock when Miss 
Despondent said she could n't do it, — half an hour before dinner, — 
and it was getting dark. The gas was then lighted, and Miss 
Despondent still went on shifting the little wooden blocks, but never 
seeming to get any nearer the end. She had just put the box down 
on the table, saying she would have nothing more to do with it, 
when in walked young Mr. Henry Hospitality, who took it up. In 
about ten minutes, he said: *" I have done it. If you turn the 6 
upside down, and the 9 upside down, thus making a 6 of the 9, and a 
9 of the 6, you can do it " 

Miss Despondent never has any trouble now with "The Game of 
Fifteen." She can always do it. 

In a short time, she is to become Mrs. Henry Hospitality. 

K. U. 

\V. H. Brown. — The earliest date when chocolate was used, in 
England, as a drink, is 1657. A London newspaper of that year 
says: "In Bishopsgate street, in Queen's Head alley, at a French- 
man's house, is an excellent West India drink called ' chocolate* to be 
sold, where you may have it ready at any time, and also unmade, at 
reasonable rates." 

Ernest T. Capen and J. W. J. — In this letter, from the author 
of the story of "The Tea-Kettle Light," you will find answers to 
your questions : 

Dear St. Nicholas: In response to Ernest T. Capen's inquiry 
as to how Joe kept his birch bark from burning, I can add but few 
particulars to the account given in March. 

Joe himself, now a white-haired man, sitting by my side, tells me 
that the tea-kettle he used was packed full of the thick outer bark 
taken from the trunk of the white birch-tree. He did not use the 
thinner bark of the branches and twigs, for it would have consumed 
faster. He also says there are other sorts of birch, especially the 
black and gray birch with their spicy inner bark, neither of which 
would probably have answered his purpose. It was easy to keep his 
kettle just hot enough. 

It hung on a crane in an old-fashioned fire-place, just as represented 
in the engraving which accompanied the story; and, by the way, I 
would like to thank Mr. Redwood and yourself, also, dear St. Nich- 
olas, for that same good illustration. So, of course, the draft carried 
all smoke and odor up the chimney. 

Joe says, too, that of course the gas must be lighted when it begins 
to issue from the spout of the tea-kettle, just like any gas. There 
was no difficulty at all with his light, except that indicated in the 
story. To put out the light, he lifted the kettle off the crane, and 
when it became cool, the flame went out. 

Wishing success to any future attempt to reproduce this old-time, 
home-made gas-light, I remain yours truly, Flora A. Sanborn. 






I. i. Sound. 2. Parched. 3. Dainty. 4. A paradise. 

II. 1. To pursue. 2. One of the United States. 3. Part of the 
neck. 4. Muscle. 

III. i- To puzzle. 2. A sign. 3. Part of a plant. 4. Terminates. 

IV. 1. A small particle. 2. An emblem. 3. A precious stone. 4. 
To dissolve, dvcie. 


I. 1. In procrastination. 2. A large cask. 3. A sweet substance. 
4. A small horse 5. In predestination. 

II. 1. In cowslip. 2. A beverage. 3. A kind of fruit. 4. A kind 
of ostrich, s- In idiosyncrasy. 

Centrals Across: A kind of sweetmeat. d. w. 


The problem is to name the tools. 

Some shrubs and vines for years had grown 

In a stony, rocky place, 
And now their roots were sadly cramped : 

How should they get more space? 

They called a council, and agreed 

A certain rock to split, 
With powder nr with dynamite, 

Could they but manage it 

" But who will drill the holes?" was asked 

("1 fear we are but fools!"); 
" The grape-vine will, of course," said one, — 

" It always has the tools." aunt sue. 


My first is a governor. My second a biped. My whole is a beau- 
tiful bird named in honor of a king who once reigned for his father. 


I AM composed of twenty-three letters, and am the full name of a 
noted American artist and inventor. 

My 14, 20, 22, 11 is a flower. My 12, 2, 19 is a root used by man 
as food. My 3, 4, 10, 16 is a four-footed animal. My 7, 8, 13 is a 
falsehood. My 17, 5, 8, 9, 23 is a fish-net. My 18, 15, 6 is a fish. 
My 1, 23, 11, 21 is a prophet. Margaret potter. 


The telegraphic characters arranged in the accompanying frame 

ture him to death. But the captive's life is saved by a Frenchman ; 
and the American afterward fought at Bunker's Hill. 

II. On the bank of a noble river, three men search a fourth, and 
find papers in his stockings. 

III. A convention is in session. A tall, spare man is saying: "I 
know not what course others may take, but as for me ! " 

IV. In South Carolina, a British and an American officer sit down 
to a dinner consisting of but one kind of vegetable. w. 


In each of these puzzles, but one word is needed to fill the blanks 
properly, only the letters of the word must be arranged differently 
for each blank. 

1. The were well learned, the rich and clear, but the 

of a thrown through the window took away from our 

enjoyment of the music. 

2. Three , lounging on the gunwale, were gazing at a 

and teaching each other the various of navigation; but there 

were holes in their books, gnawed by ; so the lesson was short 

3. I took and to buy a . bertie jackson. 


1. In octoroon. 2. Part of an ape. 3. Found in temples. 4. A 
singing bird. 5. An inhabitant of a part of the East Indies. 6. A 
fish. 7. In octoroon. isola. 


This puzzle is based on names found in those books of the Old 
Testament which are called "Joshua," "Chronicles," and "Kings." 
Each cross-word spells the same backward and forward, but the word 
formed by the initials of the cross-words in the given order is spelled 
downward only. 

1. A pass, by which an enemy came 

To fight with Judah, but met with shame, 
Backward and forward spelling the same. 

2. To rank with princes my next could claim; 
With men of valor is classed his name, 
Which backward and forward spells the same. 

3. The /atfter of one, of Scripture fame 

(Of himself no record gives praise, or blame) ; 
And backward and forward spelling the same. 

4. To the sons of Elpaal we offer no blame 
For rearing a temple whose musical name 
Backward and forward reads ever the same. 

represent the title and first stanza of a hymn well known to every 
American. The characters used are those of the Morse Telegraphic 


The problem is to name the chief persons mentioned as having 
part in the scenes described. 

I. An American noted for courage is captured and bound to a tree, 
while the battle still rages around him. His captors, forced to retreat, 
carry him with them and again bind him to a tree, intending to tor- 

5. Of one who back to Jerusalem came 

With Babylon captives mv next is the name, 
Backward and forward still spelling the same. 

6. A town in Assyria next you may name 

Where, brought by the king, Jewish captives once came, 
And backward and forward it spells just the same. 

The initials of these, in their order, will frame 

Of a Jewish town, in a valley, the name, 

And which backward and forward does not spell the same. 

7 6o 




The answer to the enigma contains five words. The pictures represent words spelled with just the 
same letters that are contained in the answer, — not one more nor less. The numerals refer to the five 
words of the answer, as they stand in the proper order of reading them. 


To solve the puzzle: find words that describe the pictures properly, each word to have as many letters 
as there are numerals under its picture. When all the words have been found, write under each its 
own set of numerals; the first numeral under the first letter, the second numeral under the second 
letter, and soon. Now write down, some distance apart, the numerals i, 2, 3, 4 and 5. Below figure 1 
set down all the letters under which you have written that numeral ; below figure 2, all the letters which 
have that numeral under it; and so on until all the letters have been distributed into groups. 

On properly arranging the letters 
of each group into a word, and 
reading off the words in the 
order of their numbering, the 
answer will appear. 



(For Older Puzzlers. ) 

My whole, comprising seventy- 
five letters, is two lines of a pop- 
ular patriotic song, written dur- 
ing the early part of our national 
history, by a Southern poet 

My revered 12, 7, 6, n, 15, 48, 
10, 1, 23, 3, 21 served in the 
patriot 17, 39, 28, 30. He car- 
ried a 16, 34, 30, 22, 18, 14, 5 
fixed to his 53, 31, 52, 13, 20. 
He had also a large g, 25, 33, 46, 
36. 72-41, 47, 7, 19, on which were 
38, 26, 27, 21, 29, 35, 42, 58, 
both his 9, 37, 7, 32, 53, 44, 31, 
49 and his 45, 56, 64, 75 as well 
as the 15, 73, 68, 70 of the open- 
ing of the war. There were cut 
on it, besides, some lines express- 
ing his 46, 51, 74, 66, 59, 31, 63, 
59 to the cause of 67, 21, 54, 55, 
58, 22, 64. He 43, 22, 35, 3, 15 
the 48, 24, 6, 27 of his country, 
whether it were a tattered 61, 45, 
8, 3T, 12, 26 or a new 71, 44, 11, 
57, 65, 39. He was a 2, 14, 7, 22 
in 50, 36, 6, 53, 49, and, when 
victory came to the armies of 
Congress, his 60, 31, 12, 69, 55, 
4, 5 and best 62, 22, 9, 3, 8 for 
his country were realized. B. 


I. 1. Ship. 
3. Veer. 


2. Hide. 3. 
3. CaBul. 4. 



Two Easy Square Words. 
Peak. II. 1. Save. 2. Area. 

Numerical Diamond, i. C. 
X. Mathematical Puzzle. 

Celebrated Namesakes, i. St. John Chrysostom. 2. John of 
Procida. 3. John of Gaunt 4. John the Fearless, Duke of Bur- 
gundy. 5. Don John of Austria, son of the Emperor Charles V. 6. 
John Knox. 7 John Eliot. 8. John Milton. 9. John Bunyan. 10. 
Jean Racine. 11. John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough. 12. John 
Howard. 13. Johann Mozart. 14. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. 
15. Sir John Franklin. 

Pictorial Puzzle, i. A pipe, smoking. 2. Adore; a gay belle. 
(A door, a gable.) 3. A miss (is as good as a mile). 4. High C. 

5. Small sales (sails). 6. Stand at your (ewer) post. 7. An L (ell) 
and a yard. 

Dwindles. I. 1. Reduce. 2. Cured. 3. Curd. 4. Cud. 5, Du. 

6. D. II. 1. Decretal. 2. Declare. 3. Cradle. 4. Laced. 5. Dale. 
6. Lad. 7. La. 8. L. III. 1. Menander. 2. Meander. 3. Demean. 
4. Medea. 5. Deem. 6. Dee. 7. De. 8. D. 

St. Andrew's Cross of Diamonds. Upper Left-hand Diamond; 
1. R. 2. Rob. 3. Robin. 4. Big. 5. N. Upper Right-hand 
Diamond : 1. N. 2. Hat. 3. Names. 4. Sea. 5. S. Central 
Diamond : 1. N. 2. Gas. 3. Nails. 4. Sly. 5. S. Lower Left- 
hand Diamond: 1. N. 2. Yes. 3. Nests. 4. Sty. 5. S. Lower 
Right-hand Diamond: 1. S. 2. Vet. 3. Sever. 4. Ten. 5. R. 

Pictorial Numerical Enigma. "Sermons in stones, books in 
running brooks; and good in everything." 
Drop-letter Verse. 

Come ye into the summer woods ; 

There entereth no annoy; 
All greenly wave the chestnut leaves, 
And the earth is full of joy. 

Mary Howitt, in Slimmer Woods. 
Double Cross- Word Enigma. June-Rose. 
Easy Numerical Enigma. In the Chicago fire. 
Easy Diamond, i. I. 2. ATe. 3. ItAly. 4. ELm. 5. Y. 
Metamorphoses. I. Dusk : 1. Rusk. 2. Rust. 3. Rest. 4. 
Nest. 5. Neat. 6. Seat. II. House: 1. Horse. 2. Corse. 3. 
Curse. 4. Crust. 5. Burst. 6. Burnt. 7. Burns. 8. Barns. 9. 
Bares. 10. Bores. 11. Cores. 12. Coves. 13. Cover. 14. Hover. 
15. Hovel. III. Warm: 1. Worm or Ward. 2. Word. 3. Wold or 
Cord. 4. Cold. IV. Curd: 1. Cord. 2. Corn. 3. Coin. 4, Chin. 
5. Thin. 6. Then. 7. When or They. 8. Whey. V. Dog; 1. 
Don. 2. Den. 3. Hen. VI. Cloth: 1. Clots. 2. Coots. 3. Copts. 

4. Copes. 5. Capes. 6. Caper. 7. Paper. VII. Pond: 1. Pone. 
2. Lone. 3. Lane. 4. Lake. VIII. Coal: r. Cool. 2. Wool. 3. 
Wood. IX. Awake: 1. Aware. 2. Sware. 3. Swart. 4. SwapL 

5. Swept. 6. Sweet. 7. Sweep. 8. Sleep. X. Boy: 1. Toy. 2, 
Ton. 3. Tan. 4. Man. XL Seas: 1. Leas. 2. Less. 3. Lest. 
4. Lent 5. Lend. 6. Land. 

Answers to Puzzles in the May Number were received before May 20th from H. T., 1 — M. M., 1 — N. C, 9 — E. M. S., g — C. B., 3 

— I. H. W., 1— H. M. D., 1— "Aline," 1— V. E. G, 1— R. B. S., Jr., 3- G. A. L, Jr., 2— V. D'O. S. S. 10— N. W. L, 1— O. G, 3 

— A. G, 3— R. R., 1— A. W., 1— C. E.,i— G T. R., 1— W. F. P., 1— N. D. S., 1— L. R. A., 1— J. R. B., 3— H. G W., 1— N. L. Y., 
1— "Erieites,"o— H. B. E. and L. W. E., 9— A. L. O., 1— "Tottie," 1— H. S., 1 tangle— I. S. S., 1 tangle— L. H. D. St. V., 10— D. 
D., r— E. and G, 13— B. T., 7— "Faith," 3 and 1 tangle— L. W., 2— V. G H., 4— C. L. R., 11— j. and H. B., 5— M. L. H., 2 and 3 
tangles— G A L , 8— A. H., 1— G B. H., Jr., 7 and 2 tangles— L L. V. L, 6— B. G., 3— J. and B. S., 4— "Blankes," 13 and 2 
taneles— G. T M., 12— B. B., 2— R. V. B., 2— G. and J. H., 13— K. E. M., 1— "Hope," 3— R. H. R.,8— L. M. S., 14 and 2 tangles— 
B. G, i— G. H., 1— A. G R., 13— J. W. T., 2— L. B. W. and K. C, 2—" The Children," 12— G H. McB., 9— " B. and Cousin," 14 
and 2 tangles— "High-diddle-diddle," 2— A. H. G., 9 and 2 tangles— H. W. D., 7— F. B., 1— " Trailing A. t ' ( 1— " X. Y. Z.," 9— "3 
Guessers," 9 and two tangles— " Dycie," 9— H. P.. W.,2— J. E. G W., 6— J. McK., 8—" 2 Black Pts.," 11— F. L. K., 14 and 2 tangles— 
G. T. T., 7— E. M., 12— F. G McD.. 14 and 3 tangles— " Stowes, 13"— W. G McL., 2— "T. D. & Co.," S — R. A. G, 6— O. G T., 
13 and 2 tangles— M. and G S., 8 — Elise and j. B. P., 13 — G. L., 3— "Carol," 7— L. S. A., 12 — "2 Great Friends," 9 — "Jonathan," 8 — 
A. M. A., 15 — B. G B., 8 — F. W. G, 4 — L. G F., 7. The numerals denote the number of puzzles solved. 



f See page 836.] 


Vol. VII. 

AUGUST, 1880. 

No. 10. 

[Copyright, 1880, by Scribner & Co/ 

By Susan Coolidge. 

In St. Nicholas for September, 1876, I saw 
an illustration, by Gustave Dore, of the well-known 
fable of the " Fox and the Stork," and it reminded 
me of something that happened less than one 
hundred years ago. You shall hear the story. 

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" crowed the red cock, 
youngest, handsomest, and earliest riser of all the 
cocks in the poultry-yard. His rival, the old 
yellow cock, had gone to roost overnight with the 
full determination to be first up the next morning. 
But age is sleepy, and his head was still under his 
wing when the challenge of his victorious foe rang 
out upon the air. Being second is next best to 
being first, however, so he, too, flapped his wings, 
crowed loudly, sprang from the perch, followed by 
his wives and children, and in five minutes, cluck- 
ing and cackling, the poultry-yard was alive with 
motion, and the chicken-day had fairly begun. 

Wasp, the red terrier, heard the noise through 
his slumbers, yawned, stretched himself, turned 
around once or twice as if to make sure that his tail 
was where he left it the night before ; then, jump- 
ing against the side of the house, he barked lustily. 
Haifa minute later a window above opened, and a 
red object was thrust out. This red object was 
Rufus Swift's head, shaggy from sleep and not yet 
combed and brushed for the day. 

"Hurray!" he cried. "No rain after all! 
Wasp, stop barking! Do you hear me, sir? 
You '11 wake mother and give her a headache, and 
I want her in good humor this day of all days." 

Wasp understood the tone, if not the words, and 
changed his bark to a low whine. Rufus drew in 
his head, and proceeded to wash and dress as fast 
as possible. He had many plans on foot and much 

Vol.. VII.— 50. 

to do, for this was the day on which his school- 
fellow, Leggy Beekman, was to make him a visit. 

Leggy 's real name was Leggett, but as a school- 
boy he was bound to have a nickname, and being 
of a tall, spare figure, "Leggy" struck theother boys 
as rather a happy allusion to facts. Rufus had been 
but a few months at the school, he and Leggett 
were almost strangers, but, finding that their homes 
were near each other, Rufus made the most of the 
acquaintance, and teased his mother for leave to ask 
Leggett to spend a day, till at last she consented. 

Mrs. Swift was a timid old lady, who dreaded 
boys and noise and confusion generally. She 
regarded Leggett as a formidable person, for when 
she asked Rufus what he would like by way of an 
entertainment for his friend, he answered, without 
hesitation : "A rat-hunt, a sail on the lake, and 
tickets for the juggler." 

" Oh, dear me ! " cried poor Mrs. Swift. " I 'II 
send you to see the juggler and welcome, Rufy, but 
a rat-hunt ! How can boys like such things ! Are 
you sure Master Beekman does ? " 

"Why, Mother, of course, all boys like 'em," 
l-eplied Rufus, purposely vague, for in truth he 
knew little about Leggett's likings and dislikings. 
"Rat-hunts are prime fun. And this is a prime 
time to have one, for the south barn is just swarm- 
ing. Wasp and Fury '11 pitch into 'em like sixty." 

" Then that lake — I do dread it so much," went 
on Mrs. Swift; "it always seemed dangerous to 
me. Don't you think your friend would like some- 
thing else just as well ? " 

" Fudge about danger," said disrespectful Rufus. 
"Now, Mother, don't forget, please. I wont have 
Beekman at all unless we can have a good time. 




You said I might take my choice and do just what I 
wanted the day he came, and I choose the rat-hunt 
and the sail and the juggler." 

Mrs. Swift sighed and submitted. After all, it 
was only kind in Rufus to plan to give his school- 
mate the things he enjoyed, she thought. She 
liked to have him unselfish and hospitable. But 
there was little hospitality in Rufus's thoughts, and 
no unselfishness. His plans were for his own 
benefit, not Leggett's, and he had no idea of con- 
sulting anybody's tastes but his own. 

About eleven o'clock the visitor arrived. Mrs. 
Swift came down-stairs rather timidly : a boy who 
preferred sailing and rat-hunting to anything else 
must, she thought, be an alarming fellow. But 
Leggett did not look alarming in the least. He 
'was a tall, loose-jointed, long-limbed boy, with a 
narrow, sallow face, hooked nose, and a pair of 
dark, short-sighted eyes. He had a way of putting 
his head, close to things in order to see them, which 
gave him an odd, solemn appearance not at all 
boy-like. But, in spite of this and his awkward 
figure, he was a gentlemanly lad, and his bow and 
pleasant way of speaking made Mrs. Swift many 
degrees less afraid of him before he had been five 
minutes in the room. 

Stout, active, freckled little Rufus danced about 
his guest, and would scarcely give him time to 
speak, so impatient was he to begin the day. 

" Oh, come along. Leggy," he broke in, " you '11 
see my mother at dinner. Don't waste time talk- 
ing now. Come out with me to the barn." 

"The barn?" said Leggett, squinting up his 
eyes to make out the subject of a print which hung 
on the wall. 

"Yes; we're going to have a rat-hu.nt, you 
know. My dogs, Wasp and Fury, are great on 
rats, and I 've set Jack, our farm-boy, to poke out 
the holes, and it '11 be prime fun. Come along." 

Leggett hesitated, and Mrs. Swift detected a look 
which was not all of pleasure. 

" Perhaps Master Beekman would rather do 

something else " she began, but Rufus pulled 

at his guest's arm, and cried : 

"Mother, what rubbish " and Leggett, too 

polite to resist, followed to the barn. 

Jack was in waiting with the terriers. The 
doors were closed, the dogs sniffed and whined, 
Jack poked and pried in the holes. Presently a 
rat sprang out. then another, and confusion dire 
set in. Squeaking wildly, the terrified rats ran to 
and fro. the dogs in full chase, Jack hallooing them 
on and "jabbing" with a stick, Rufus, wild with 
excitement, clattering after. Dust rose from the 
floor in clouds, the lofts above echoed the din, and 
so entirely was Rufus absorbed by the sport that it 
was not until half an hour had passed, and three 

rats lay dead upon the ground, that he remem- 
bered the existence of his visitor, and only then 
because he happened to stumble over his legs. 
Leggett was sitting in the corner on an inverted 
corn-measure, looking rather pale. 

"Hallo, Beekman, are you there? Why don't 
you pitch in ? " remarked Rufus. " It 's famous fun, 
is n't it ? You don't mean to say you don't like it ? " 

" Not much," said Leggett. " I don't like to see 
things killed." 

"Ho! That's a good one. Jack, hear this. 
Here 's a boy who don't like to see things killed." 

" As I don't," went on Leggett, " perhaps you '11 
excuse me if I leave you to finish the rats alone. 
I '11 sit with your mother, or wait under the trees 
till you get through." 

Leggett's manner was so polite that it reminded 
Rufus to be polite also. 

" No, hang it," he said. " If you don't care for 
it, we '11 put off the hunt till another day. What a 
queer chap you are ! " he continued, as they went 
along ; " you 're not a bit like the rest of the fellows. 
Why don't you like to see rats killed ? " 

" 1 don't know. They are nuisances, of course, 
but it strikes me as a low sort of fun to enjoy see- 
ing their fright and hearing them squeak." 

"My eye! How mighty and genteel we are! 
What docs your worship like, may 1 ask, if rats are 
too ' low ' to suit ? " 

" It was rude of me to use the word," said 
Leggett, apologetically. "Excuse me, Rufus. 
What shall we do next?" 

" Oh, we '11 take a sail," said Rufus, whose pro- 
gramme had been exactly laid out beforehand. 
" There 's the boat, under the trees. 1 '11 take you 
up to the head of the lake." 

" Sailing?" said Leggett. " I 'm sorry, Rufus, 
but I can't." 

"Can't? Why not?" 

" Why, you see, I 'm under a promise not to go 
on the water." 

" A promise ! Stuff ! What sort of a promise ? " 
cried Rufus, who could not bear to be put out. 

Leggett blushed painfully. 

" The promise is to my mother," he said, speak- 
ing with an effort. " My father was drowned, you 
see, and she has a great fear of the water for me. 
I gave her my word that I would n't get into a sail- 
boat, and I must keep it." 

"Oh, if that 'sail," said Rufus, "come along. 
My mother fidgets just so — all women do ; but it 's 
nonsense. There 's old Tom hoisting the sail. 
You '11 be as safe as if on dry land. And your 
mother '11 never know — come on." 

" I thought you heard me say that I had given 
my word," said Leggett, seating himself deliber- 
ately under a tree. 




"Confound your promises!" exclaimed Rufus, 
angrily; " I 'm not going to lose my sail, any way. 
I don't get leave often, and Tom is n't to be 
had every day, so if you wont go I shall just go 
without you." 

" Pray do," said Leggett. " I will sit here and 
watch you off." 

Rufus was too hot and vexed to realize what an 
uncivil thing he was doing. Without another word 

leggett's turn, [see next page.] 

he bounded down the bank, sprang into the boat, 
and in five minutes her white sail was speeding up 
the lake. Leggett lay under the trees awhile, then 
walked to the house, and when, two hours later, 
Rufus sought for him, he was found bending his 
short-sighted eyes over a book, which he had taken 
from the shelf in the parlor. 

" You 've had a dull time, I 'm afraid," said 
Rufus, feeling some belated pricks of conscience. 

"Oh, no," replied Leggett; "I 've done very 
well. This is a book I was wishing to see." 

" I Ml lend it you if you like," said Rufus, gen- 
erous enough in things which cost him nothing. 
Leggett accepted the offer amicably, and matters 
went smoothly till dinner-time. 

"Have you had a pleasant morning?" asked 
old Mrs. Swift, as she carved the roast goose. 

" Splendid," said Rufus. Leggett said nothing. 
"And a nice sail?" she continued, amiably 
desirous to be civil to Rufus's friend. 

" First-rate," answered Rufus, and again Leggett 
was silent. 

" And now you 're to see the jugglers," went on 

the old lady. " Rufy, you '11 find the tickets on the 

chimney-piece, back of your pa's daguerreotype." 

" All right, Mother," said Rufus, and Leggett 

looked pleased, for, as it 

happened, he had never 

seen a juggler. 

But, alas ! Jack wanted 
to speak to Rufus after 
dinner, and Rufus went 
off with him to the barn 
for half an hour, so, 
though the friends walked 
fast to the town, they 
reached the show so late 
that they had to take back 
seats. This did not matter 
to Rufus, but it mattered 
very much indeed to Leg- 
gett, whose short sight 
prevented him from see- 
ing anything clearly. 

"What is it? What 
did he do ? I could not 
make it out," he would 
ask, while Rufus, jumping 
up and down with delight, 
ejaculated : " Famous I 
Capital ! I never saw 
anything so good." 

" Do try to tell me. 
What was it he did?" 

" Oh, such a queer 
game ! He stuck a hand- 
kerchief inside a bottle, 
you see," — but just then the conjuror proceeding 
to pound a lady's watch in a mortar, Rufus forgot 
his unfinished sentence, and poor Leggett never 
learned what became of the pocket-handkerchief. 
This fate followed him through the entire per- 
formance, which left him with a headache, a pair 
of smarting eyes, and a mind full of puzzles. 

Tea, muffins, cakes and country sweetmeats of 
all sorts were awaiting them at the Red Farm, 
and kind old Mrs. Swift hoping they had enjoyed 
themselves, Rufus energetically declared that he 
had. After tea, Leggett's pony was brought around, 
and he said good-bye, asking Rufus to come over 
the next week and spend a day with him. 

" I can't offer you any sailing; you know why," 
he said, good-humoredly. " But I shall be glad 
to see you." 




" All right," said Rufus. " I '11 be sure to come. 
Thursday, you said?" 

" Yes; Thursday." 

The boys parted, and Leggett trotted away. 

Leggett's mother listened to his account of the 
visit with a smile which was shrewd and a little 
malicious. She was, like her boy, thin of figure, 
long of face, with the same keen nose and short- 
sighted eyes. 

" Hum ! Rat-hunting, sailing, a juggler!" she 
said. " Master Swift fancies these things himself, 
I imagine. The little fox ! Well, what will you 
do to amuse him when he returns your visit?" 

" I 'm not sure. What would be best, Mamma?" 

" Let me see," and Mrs. Beekman's eyes 
twinkled wickedly. " There are your microscopic 
objects, — you could show him those, and your 
medals and your cabinet of shells. And — yes, the 
very thing ! Professor Peters gives his chemical 
lecture in the afternoon. That will be sure to be 
interesting; you remember how much you liked 
the others." 

" So I did ! " cried Leggett. " That will be first- 
rate, wont it? Only," his face falling, "perhaps 
Rufus might think it dull. He 's such an active 

" Oh, he may like it," said his mother. " He 
ought to. If he knows nothing about chemistry, it 
will all be new to him. And there is a good deal 
of popping and exploding in the course of the 
experiments; all boys enjoy that. We '11 settle it 
so, Leggett, — all your curiosities for the morning, 
and the lecture in the afternoon." 

"Very well," said Leggett. unsuspectingly; 
while his mother, who had much ado not to laugh, 
kept her face perfectly serious, lest he should guess 
her mischievous intention. 

Rufus, for once in his life, felt awkward, as he 
walked into Mrs. Beekman's parlor. His own home 
was comfortable and handsome, but here were 
all sorts of things which he was not used to see, — 
pictures, busts, globes, cabinets of fossils and 
stones, stuffed birds, and instruments of which he 
did not know the name or use. Leggett's father 
had been a man of science ; his wife shared his 
tastes, and had carefully trained her son's mind in 
the same direction. Rufus glanced at these strange 
objects out of the corners of his eyes, and felt oddly 
sheepish as Mrs. Beekman, tall and dignified, came 
forward to shake hands with him. 

" Leggett will be here in a moment," she said; 
" he was busy in arranging a fly's wing on one of 
his microscope glasses. Ah, here he is." 

As she spoke, Leggett hurried into the room. 

The boys shook hands. There was a little talk ; 
then Mrs. Beekman said, graciously : 

" Perhaps your friend would like to see your 

room, Leggett, and your collections. Take him 
upstairs ; but don't get so absorbed as to forget 
that to-day we dine early, in order to leave time 
for the lecture." 

Leggett's room was a pleasant little study, fitted 
up with presses and book-shelves. It had a large, 
delightful window looking out into the tree-tops. 
His bed-chamber opened from it, and both were 
cozy and convenient as heart of boy could wish. 
Leggett was fond of his rooms, and proud to 
exhibit them to one of his school-fellows. 

" See," he said. " Here are my books, and my 
shells, and my coins, and here I keep my plaster 
medals. And this is my mineral cabinet. Would 
you like to look over the minerals?" 

" No, thank you ; I don't care much for stones," 
said Rufus. 

"Well, here 's my microscope," said Leggett, 
"and I 've got some splendid slides! Take this 
chair, Rufus ; it 's just the right height for the 

Rufus rather unwillingly took the chair, and 
Leggett proceeded to exhibit and explain his 
beloved specimens, expatiating on chalk-shells, 
moth-wings and infusoria, till, suddenly, a great, 
noisy yawn on the part of Rufus made him desist 
with a jump. 

" I 'm afraid this is boring you," he said, in an 
embarrassed tone. 

"Well, rather," confessed Rufus, with a dread- 
ful frankness. 

"Would you rather see my medals, then?" 
asked Leggett, pulling out a drawer. But Rufus 
could not be induced to show any interest in the 
medals beyond calling the Emperor Commodus 
" the old chap with a nose"; so Leggett, discom- 
fited, shut the drawer again. Shells and coins 
were equally unsuccessful, and Leggett was at his 
wits' end to know what to do next, when the ring- 
ing of the dinner-bell relieved him of his perplexity. 

Perhaps Mrs. Beekman had a guess as to how 
the morning had gone, Rufus came down-stairs 
looking so bored, and Leggett so tired and anxious ; ' 
but she was very attentive and civil, gave large 
helps of everything, and as Rufus's appetite was 
not at all impaired by his sufferings, dinner passed 
off with great success, excepting in the case of a 
dainty little dish of frogs' legs, stewed delicately in 
a nice brown gravy. Leggett and his mother were 
foreign enough in their tastes to like this out-of- 
the-way dainty ; but Rufus, who had never seen 
such before, was horrified. 

"Frogs!" he cried. "I thought nobody but 
cranes, and birds like that, ate frogs. What would 
my mother say ? " 

" 'Cranes, and birds like that,' show very good 
taste, then," remarked Mrs. Beekman, helping her- 




self, composedly. But Rufus could not be per- 
suaded to touch the frogs' legs. 

The dessert was hurried a little, Mrs. Beekman 
remarking that they must make haste in order to 
miss none of the lecture, while Leggett eagerly 
explained what a delightful treat lay before them. 

" Dr. Peters is a great gun, you know," he said. 
" Some of the experiments in the other lectures 
have been splendid. You 'd like to go, Rufus ? 
There 's all sorts of fizzing and popping, and green- 
and-red flames, and interesting things." 

"Ye — es," replied Rufus; but if ever a boy's 
face expressed dismay his did at that moment. 
The prospect of possible pops and fizzes alone 
enabled him to meet the proposal with common 

Poor Rufus. It was indeed a black afternoon for 
him. As it turned out, none of the explosions 
which Leggett had described occurred in the 
experiments, and the lecture was full of technical 
terms and phrases which Leggett, having studied 
chemistry a good deal, understood, but which 
were unmeaning to Rufus, who found the whole 
thing inexpressibly dull. Disconsolate and de- 

pressed, he sat swallowing his yawns, while Leggett, 
forgetting everything else, listened with bright- 
eyed interest, only turning now and then to his 
mother for a look of sympathy, quite unconscious 
of what his guest was enduring. Their seat was 
close to the lecturer, so that Leggett could see 
every step of the process, and his pleasure was 
thorough and complete. 

" It has been interesting, hasn't it?" said Mrs. 
Beekman, on the way home; "or was it a little 
over your head, Master Rufus ? I feared it might 
be, as you did not hear the rest of the course." 

Rufus muttered something indistinct, which no- 
body could hear, and walked on in sulky silence. 
In silence he ate his supper ; then his horse was 
brought to the door, and he made ready to go. 

" Good-bye," said his hostess; "I hope you'll 
come again. Leggett was a little anxious as to 
how he should entertain you, but I told him he 
would better just do as you did, and let you share 
the things which he himself liked and enjoyed. 
A good way, — don't you think so? Good-bye." 

And with these words Mamma Beekman dis- 
missed Master Swift to his home. 

A plump little girl and a thin little bird 

Were out in the meadow together. 
How cold that poor little bird must be 
Without any clothes like mine," said she, 
" Although it is sunshiny weather." 

" A nice little girl is that," said he, 

" But oh, how cold she must be ! For, see, 

She hasn't a single feather!" — 
So each shivered to think of the other poor thing, 

Although it was sunshiny weather. 





By E. C. N. 

you see by the pict- 
ure, it is not the one- 
eyed " stocking doctor" 
that we are about to in- 
troduce to you. No, 
indeed ; our aristocratic 
little acquaintance would 
own no connection with 
that unpretending but 
very useful member of 
society. And yet we 
are suspicious that our 
little aristocrat of the 
most wonderful vision, 
unsurpassed nimbleness 
and world-wide acquaint- 
ance is, after all, a sort 
of namesake of the stiff 
needle, whose only eye 
is " put out," and whose whole knowledge of the 
world is confined to the narrow limits of the 
stocking-basket. But you must not whisper to the 
dragon-fly what I have told you. 

My Darning-needle has the wise family name 
Libelhtlidce, the plain English of which is dragon- 
fly. It does n't object to either of these names, or 
even to the common name of darning-needle, if 
you only don't associate it with anything stiff or 
blind. It is really no clumsy affair. There is not 
a stiff joint in its body, and as for seeing things, 
why, bless your eyes ! it is a perfect marvel. You 
never saw anything more wonderful. It would take 
your bright-eyed, smart little Johnny six hours — 
the longest, busiest hours he ever spent in his life 

— just to count the eyes of the dragon-fly. Twenty- 
four thousand eyes ! Just think of a little chap 
with twelve thousand eyes to your one. He can 
look to the right and to the left, down and up, 
backward and forward, toward all points of the 
compass at the same instant of time. Who can 
tell all that he sees? Would n't you like to borrow 
his eyes for about ten minutes ? 

The dragon-fly is not only marvelous on account 
of its vast number of eyes, but it is curious in 
many ways. There are about two hundred known 
species, some of which are very beautiful. The 
largest and most brilliant kinds are found on the 
Amazon River. " Some of them," says a traveler, 
''with green or crimson bodies seven inches long, 
and their elegant, lace-like wings tipped with white 
or yellow." 

The dragon-fly is the most ferocious of all insects, 
and he has for this reason been called the " devil's 
darning-needle," but it is better to drop the big 
adjective and not call hard names. Yet he is truly 
the greatest cannibal of the insect world. He dines 
with keenest relish upon his many cousins, has a 
special appetite for tender young mosquitoes, and 
does not hesitate to devour the prettiest, loveliest 
butterflies or any of the family relatives that he is 
able to catch. 

All the little fellows are afraid of him, but it is 
useless to try to escape him. Even the swift mos- 
quito, with its three thousand vibrations of the 
wing a minute, cannot outfly this terrible, swift 

He takes his meals while on the wing, — a whole 
insect at one swallow, — and you can hardly guess 





how many victims are served up for a good " square 
meal." Quite a little swarm is needed for his 
dinner, and he is always ready to make way with 
all the scattering ones that he finds for lunch 
between meals. 

The dragon-fly knows all the ways of the world. 
He can dart backward just as well as forward, and 
fly sideways just as well as any other way, and so 
there is no chance to get out of his way. When 
he once goes for his victim, it is all over with it. 

Naturalists have been greatly interested in this 
insect, and have studied its habits closely from its 
babyhood up. 

Mrs. Dragon is a firm believer in the use of 
plenty of water in bringing up her babies, so all 
her little ones begin life in an aquatic nursery. 
From the leaf of a water-plant, in which they are 
at first cuddled up, they come out with rough- 
looking, grub-like bodies, having six sprawling 
legs. They find themselves all alone in the world. 
Their mother has gone and left them, and they have 
no one to provide them with their " bread and din- 
ner." They must stir themselves and " grub it for 
a living." But they have such a stupid, lubber- 
heel look, that no one would think they knew 
enough to take care of themselves. On their head 
is something that looks like a hood, and this is 
drawn over their faces as though they were 

But this hood is only their natural head-dress. 
These little water-nymphs don't really wear their 
hoods for bonnets to keep them from taking cold, but 
they are really masks, and very curious ones, too. 
This mask is made of hinges, slides and hooks, 

and it is their trap 
to get a living. 
When they see 
something which 
they would relish 
for dinner, the 
hinges spring open, 
and the hooks cling 
in, and in one in- 
stant of time their 
prey is secured. 
And that is the 
way thesedumpish- 
looking little chaps 
''go a- fishing." 
You surely would 
never call them 
dull fellows if you 
should once see the lively way they serve up refresh- 
ments. Quicker than we can tell it, they pack their 
lunch-baskets from capsized gnat and mosquito- 
boats, and they overtake the swift little tadpoles 


and serve them up in " smacking jst 
good" meat-pies. 

Perhaps you would like to 
know how these little fellows get 
about so fast. Neither fins nor 
paddles of any kind are used in 
chasing their prey, nor to help 
them handle it when caught. But 
to get about they have a way of 
their own, and, a few years ago, 
a British war-vessel was built to 
go by a method like theirs. 

You may have read that Ben- 
jamin Franklin once had an idea 
that a boat could be made with 
a pump in the stern, by which 
water could be drawn in and 
pumped out with such force as 
to propel the boat along. But 
the ingenious Franklin, although 
he could coax lightning from the 
clouds and make it obey him, had 
to give up the idea of pumping 
boats about. And here is just 
where this little grub beats the 
great philosopher. In the stern 
of his little worm-skin boat, he 
has a pump that works like a 
charm. When the little nymph 
wants to go on an exploring voy- 
age, his clever little muscles in- 
stantly set the pump at work, 
and away shoots the boat like a 
rocket, while at the prow of the 
boat is the masked pirate, always 
ready for his booty. He is very 
voracious, and banquets on mul- 
titudes of little creatures during 
the one year of his grub life. 

At the end of the year, the 
little pump-boat that has served 
him so well is anchored to a 
water-plant, and in two hours 
Jack, the sailor-grub, starts out 
on another voyage. 

But this is an aerial trip. He 
hoists sail, unfolding four lovely 
wings of gauze, and speeds away 
into the air, the rich-robed mon- 
arch of the insect world. 

To every enemy of insects the 
dragon-fly is a friend, for what 
uncounted hosts of water-insects 
does the swift boat of this pirate 
overtake before it comes to shore, 
and what swarms and swarms 
of little animal life have been 







buried in that one grave, — the voracious, never- 
satisfied, long stomach of the great insect dragon ! 
But only insects have reason to fear him ; and he 
generally proves quite sociable with the boys and girls 
who cross his path, knowing himself well insured 
againstcapture by hisswift-dartingwingsand myriad 
eyes. You will find him much more difficult to catch 
than his Cousin Butterfly, but when you go fishing 
he will flit along the bank in front of you as you wade 
through marshy places, or hover above the tangle 
of drift-wood near which you have dropped your 
line, as if he enjoyed your company. Now and 
then, perhaps, he will even poise gracefully for a 

moment above your outstretched rod, or silently 
settle on the very same log on which you are seated, 
and almost within reach of your hand. Make the 
slightest motion lo entrap him, and see how quickly 
he is gone ! Yet he does not go far, returning 
sometimes to the very spot from which you drove 
him away. Be sure, then, that at least some hun- 
dreds of his thousand eyes are on you; but, though 
he is such a terror to his own tribe and kindred, he 
is at peace with all mankind, and you may become 
acquainted with this beautiful but fierce darning- 
needle with as much safety as with the homely, 
stupid one in grandmother's stocking- basket. 


By Hannah More Johnson. 

Have you heard of little Pussy, in that country o'er the sea, 
How the dogs came out to chase her and she had to climb a tree ? 
You haven't? Then I '11 tell you how gentle Pussy Gray 
Went climbing up, hand over hand, and safely got away. 

But then the strangest trouble came ! The tree began to shake ! 
A tremendous giant something took Pussy by the neck 



And tossed her off! And there again among 

the dogs was she, 
And what could frightened Pussy do, but climb 

the same old tree ? 

But then the strange thing came again, and, 

swinging high in air, 
Pounced right on little Pussy, as she sat 

trembling there ; 
But when it touched her fur it stopped; as 

though its owner thought: 
" It 's nothing but a pussy-cat that trouble here 

has brought. 

" I 'II let her make herself at home." — And 
Pussy, safe once more, 
Folded her paws contentedly and viewed the 
country o'er, 
purred a meek apology : " Excuse me, friend, I see 
limbed a broad-backed elephant ; I meant to climb a tree ! " 

Whatever else she said or sung that you would like to hear 
She must have whispered coaxingly into the giant ear ; 
For often afterward, 't is said, Miss Pussy Gray was seen 
To ride the broad-backed elephant as proud as any queen ! 

7 I ' And'pr 

^i^r&^ir ■ § 





By Louisa M. Alcott. 

Chapter XVII. 


" Now, my dears, I Ye something very curious 
to tell you, so listen quietly and then I '11 give you 
your dinners," said Molly, addressing the nine cats 
who came trooping after her as she went into the 
shed chamber, with a bowl of milk and a plate of 
scraps in her hands. She had taught them to 

* Copyright, 1879, by Louisa 

behave well at meals, so, though their eyes glared 
and their tails quivered with impatience, they 
obeyed ; and when she put the food on a high shelf 
and retired to the big basket, the four old cats sat 
demurely down before her, while the five kits 
scrambled after her and tumbled into her lap, as if 
hoping to hasten the desired feast by their innocent 

Granny, Tobias, Mortification and Molasses were 
the elders. Granny, a gray old puss, was the 
M. Alcott. All rights reserved. 




mother and grandmother of all the rest. Tobias 
was her eldest son, and Mortification his brother, 
so named because he had lost his tail, which afflic- 
tion depressed his spirits and cast a blight over his 
young life. Molasses was a yellow cat, the mamma 
of four of the kits, the fifth being Granny's latest 
darling. Toddlekins, the little aunt, was the image 
of her mother and very sedate, even at that early 
age; Miss Muffet, so called from her dread of 
spiders, was a timid black and white kit ; Beauty, 
a pretty Maltese, with a serene little face and pink 
nose; Rag-bag, a funny thing, every color that a cat 
could be ; and Scamp, who well deserved his name, 
for he was the plague of Miss Bat's life, and Molly's 
especial pet. 

He was now perched on her shoulder, and, as 
she talked, kept peeping into her face orbiting her 
ear in the most impertinent way, while the others 
sprawled in her lap or promenaded around the 
basket rim. 

" My friends, something very remarkable has hap- 
pened : Miss Bat is cleaning house ! " and, having 
made this announcement, Molly leaned back to see 
how the cats received it, for she insisted that they 
understood all she said to them. 

Tobias stared, Mortification lay down as if it was 
too much for him, Molasses beat her tail on the 
floor as if whipping a dusty carpet, and Granny 
began to purr approvingly. The giddy kits paid 
no attention, as they did not know what house- 
cleaning meant, happy little dears ! 

" I thought you 'd like it, Granny, for you are a 
decent cat, and know what is proper," continued 
Molly, leaning down to stroke the old puss, who 
blinked affectionately at her. " I can't imagine 
what put it into Miss Bat's head. I never said a 
word, and gave up groaning over the clutter, as I 
could n't mend it. I just took care of Boo and 
myself, and left her to be as untidy as she pleased, 
and she is a regular old " 

Here Scamp put his paw on her lips, because he 
saw them moving, but it seemed as if it was to 
check the disrespectful word just coming out. 

" Well, I wont call names; but what shall I do 
when I see everything in confusion, and she wont 
let me clear up?" asked Molly, looking around at 
Scamp, who promptly put the little paw on her 
eyelid, as if the roll of the blue ball underneath 
amused him. 

" Shut my eyes to it, you mean? I do all I can, 
but it is hard, when I wish to be nice, and do try ; 
don't I ? " asked Molly. But Scamp was ready for 
her, and began to comb her hair with both paws 
as he stood on his hind legs to work so busily that 
Molly laughed and pulled him down, saying, as 
she cuddled the sly kit : 

" You sharp little thing ! I know my hair is not 

neat now, for I 've been chasing Boo round the 
garden to wash him for school. Then Miss Bat 
threw the parlor carpet out of the window, and I 
was so surprised I had to run and tell you. Now, 
what had we better do about it ? " 

The cats all winked at her, but no one had any 
advice to offer, except Tobias, who walked to the 
shelf, and, looking up, uttered a deep, suggestive 
yowl, which said, as plainly as words, " Dinner first 
and discussion afterward." 

" Very well, don't scramble," said Molly, getting 
up to feed her pets. First the kits, who rushed at 
the bowl and thrust their heads in, lapping as if for 
a wager ; then the cats, who each went to one of 
the four piles of scraps laid round at intervals and 
placidly ate their meat ; while Molly retired to the 
basket, to ponder over the phenomena taking place 
in the house. 

She could not imagine what had started the old 
lady. It was not the example of her neighbors, who 
had beaten carpets and scrubbed paint every spring 
for years without exciting her to any greater exertion 
than cleaning a few windows and having a man to 
clear away the rubbish displayed when the snow 
melted. Molly never guessed that her own efforts 
were at the bottom of the change, nor knew that a 
few words not meant for her ear had shamed Miss 
Bat into action. Coming home from prayer-meet- 
ing one dark night, she trotted along behind two 
old ladies who were gossiping in loud voices, as one 
was rather deaf, and Miss Bat was both pleased and 
troubled to hear herself unduly praised. 

" I always said as Sister Dawes meant well; but 
she's getting into years, and the care of two children 
is a good deal for her, with her cooking and her 
rheumatiz. I don't deny she did neglect 'em for a 
spell, but she does well by 'em now, and I would n't 
wish to see better-appearing children." 

" You 've no idee how improved Molly is. She 
came in to see my girls, and brought her sewing- 
work, shirts for the boy, and done it as neat and 
capable as you 'd wish to see.' She always was a 
smart child, but dreadful careless," said the other 
old lady, evidently much impressed by the change 
in harum-scarum Molly Loo. 

" Being over to Mis' Minot's so much has been 
good for her, and up to Mis' Grant's. Girls catch 
neat ways as quick as they do untidy ones, and 
them wild little tykes often turn out smart women." 

■' Sister Dawes has done well by them children, 
and I hope Mr. Bemis sees it. He ought to give 
her something comfortable to live on when she 
can't do for him any longer. He can well afford 

" I have n't a doubt he will. He 's a lavish man 
when he starts to do a thing, but dreadful unob- 
serving, else he 'd have seen to matters long ago. 




Them children was town-talk last fall, and I used 
to feel as if it was my bounden duty to speak to 
Mis' Dawes. But I never did, fearing I might 
speak too plain, and hurt her feelings." 

'• You 've spoken plain enough now, and I 'm 
beholden to you, though you '11 never know it," 
said Miss Bat to herself, as she slipped into her 
own gate, while the gossips trudged on, quite uncon- 
scious of the listener behind them. 

Miss Bat was a worthy old soul in the main, only, 
like so many of us, she needed rousing up to her 
duty. She had got the rousing now, and it did her 
good, for she could not bear to be praised when 
she had not deserved it. She had watched Molly's 
efforts with lazy interest, and when the girl gave 
up meddling with her affairs, as she called the 
housekeeping, Miss Bat ceased to oppose her, and 
let her scrub Boo, mend clothes, and brush her 
hair as much as she liked. So Molly had worked 
along without any help from her, running in to 
Mrs. Pecq for advice, to Merry for comfort, or to 
Mrs. Minot for the higher kind of help one often 
needs so much. Now Miss Bat found that she was 
getting the credit and the praise belonging to other 
people, and it stirred her up to try and deserve a 
part at least. 

" Molly does n't want any help about her work or 
the boy : it's too late for that; but if this house 
does n't get a spring cleaning that will make it 
shine, my name aint Bathsheba Dawes," said the 
old lady, as she put away her bonnet that night, and 
laid energetic plans for a grand revolution, inspired 
thereto not only by shame, but by the hint that 
" Mr. Bemis was a lavish man," as no one knew 
better than she. 

Molly's amazement next day at seeing carpets fly 
out of window, ancient cobwebs come down, and 
long-undisturbed closets routed out, to the great 
dismay of moths and mice, has been already con- 
fided to the cats, and as she sat there watching 
them lap and gnaw, she said to herself: 

" I don't understand it, but as she never says 
much to me about my affairs, 1 wont take any 
notice till she gets through ; then I '11 admire every- 
thing all I can. It is so pleasant to be praised 
after you 've been trying hard." 

She might well say that, for she got very little 
herself, and her trials had been many, her efforts 
not always successful, and her reward seemed a long 
way off. Poor Boo could have sympathized with 
her, for he had suffered much persecution from his 
small school-mates, when he appeared with large 
gray patches on the little brown trousers, where he 
had worn them out coasting down those too fasci- 
nating steps. As he could not see the patches him- 
self, he fancied them invisible, and came home 
much afflicted by the jeers of his friends. Then 

Molly tried to make him new trousers from a sack 
of her own ; but she cut both sides for the same 
leg, so one was wrong-side out. Fondly hoping 
no one would observe it, she sewed bright buttons 
wherever they could be put, and sent confiding 
Boo away in a pair of blue trousers which were 
absurdly hunchy behind and buttony before. He 
came home heart-broken and muddy, having been 
accidentally tipped into a mud-puddle by two bad 
boys, who felt that such tailoring was an insult to 
mankind. That roused Molly's spirit, and she 

"the nine cats came trooping after her. 

begged her father to take the boy and have 
him properly fitted out, as he was old enough now 
to be well dressed, and she would n't have him 
tormented. His attention being called to the 
trousers, Mr. Bemis had a good laugh over them, 
and then got Boo a suit which caused him to be the 
admired of all observers, and to feel as proud as a 
little peacock. 

Cheered by this .success, Molly undertook a set 
of small shirts, and stitched away bravely, though 
her own summer clothes were in a sad state, and 
for the first time in her life she cared about what 
she should wear. 

" I must ask Merry, and may be father will let 




me go with her and her mother when they do 
their shopping, instead of leaving it to Miss Bat, 
who dresses me like an old woman. Merry knows 
what is pretty and becoming; I don't," thought 
Molly, meditating in the bushel basket, with her 
eyes on her snuff-colored gown and the dark pur- 
ple bow at the end of the long braid Muffet had 
been playing with. 

Molly was beginning to see that even so small a 
matter as the choice of colors made a difference in 
one's appearance, and to wonder why Merry always 
took such pains to have a blue tie for the gray 
dress, a rosy one for the brown, and gloves that 
matched her bonnet ribbons. Merry never wore a 
locket outside her sack, a gay bow in her hair and 
soiled cuffs, a smart hat and the braid worn off her 
skirts. She was exquisitely neat and simple, yet 
always looked well-dressed and pretty ; for her 
love of beauty taught her what all girls should 
learn as soon as they begin to care for appearances, 
— that neatness and simplicity are their best orna- 
ments, that good habits are better than fine 
clothes, and the most elegant manners are the 

All these thoughts were dancing through Molly's 
head, and when she left her cats, after a general 
romp in which even decorous Granny allowed her 
family to play leap-frog over her respectable back, 
she had made up her mind not to have yellow 
ribbons on her summer hat if she got a pink mus- 
lin, as she had planned, but to finish off Boo's last 
shirt before she went shopping with Merry. 

It rained that evening, and Mr. Bemis had a 
headache, so he threw himself down upon the 
lounge after tea, for a nap, with his silk handker- 
chief spread over his face. He did get a nap, and 
when he waked he lay for a time drowsily listening 
to the patter of the rain, and another sound which 
was even more soothing. ■ Putting back a corner 
of the handkerchief to learn what it was, he saw 
Molly sitting by the fire with Boo in her lap, rock- 
ing and humming as she warmed his little bare 
feet, having learned to guard against croup by 
attending to the damp shoes and socks before 
going to bed. Boo lay with his round face turned 
up to hers, stroking her cheek, while the sleepy 
blue eyes blinked lovingly at her as she sang her 
lullaby with a motherly patience sweet to see. 
They made a pretty little picture, and Mr. Bemis 
looked at it with pleasure, having a leisure moment 
in which to discover, as all parents do, sooner or 
later, that his children were growing up. 

"Molly is getting to be quite a woman, and 
very like her mother," thought papa, wiping the 
eye that peeped, for he had been fond of the pretty 
wife who died when Boo was born. " Sad loss to 
them, poor things ! But Miss Bat seems to have 

done well by them. Molly is much improved, and 
the boy looks finely. She 's a good soul after all ; " 
and Mr. Bemis began to think he had been hasty 
when he half made up his mind to get a new 
housekeeper, feeling that burnt steak, weak coffee 
and ragged wristbands were sure signs that Miss 
Bat's days of usefulness were over. 

Molly was singing the lullaby her mother used 
to sing to her, and her father listened to it silently, 
till Boo was carried away too sleepy for anything 
but bed. When she came back she sat down to 
her work, fancying her father still asleep. She 
had a crimson bow at her throat and one on the 
newly braided hair, her cuffs were clean, and a 
white apron hid the shabbiness of the old dress. 
She looked like a thrifty little housewife as she sat 
with her basket beside her, full of neat white rolls, 
her spools set forth, and a new pair of scissors 
shining on the table. There was a sort of charm 
in watching the busy needle flash to and fro, the 
anxious pucker of the forehead as she looked to see 
if the stitches were even, and the expression of 
intense relief upon her face as she surveyed the 
finished button-hole with girlish satisfaction. Her 
father was wide awake and looking at her, think- 
ing, as he did so : 

" Really the old lady has worked well to change 
my tomboy into that nice little girl: I wonder how 
she did it." Then he gave a yawn, pulled off the 
handkerchief, and said, aloud, "What are you 
making, Molly ? " for it struck him that sewing was 
a new amusement. 

" Shirts for Boo, sir. Four, and this is the last," 
she answered, with pardonable pride, as she held 
it up and nodded toward the pile in her basket. 

" Is n't that a new notion ? I thought Miss Bat 
did the sewing," said Mr. Bemis, as he smiled at 
the funny little garment, it looked so like Boo him- 

"No, sir; only yours. I do mine and Boo's. 
At least, I 'm learning how, and Mrs. Pecq says I 
get on nicely," answered Molly, threading her 
needle and making a knot in her most capable 

" I suppose it is time you did learn, for you are 
getting to be a great girl, and all women should 
know how to make and mend. You must take a 
stitch for me now and then : Miss Bat's eyes are 
not what they were, I find ; " and Mr. Bemis looked 
at his frayed wristband, as if he particularly felt the 
need of a stitch just then. 

" I 'd love to, and I guess I could. I can mend 
gloves: Merry taught me, so I 'd better begin on 
them, if you have any," said Molly, much pleased 
at being able to do anything for her father, and 
still more so at being asked. 

"There 's something to start with:" and he 




threw her a pair, with nearly every one of the 
fingers ripped. 

Molly shook her head over them, but got out her 
gray silk and fell to work, glad to show how well 
she could sew. 

"What are you smiling about?" asked her 
father, after a little pause, for his head felt better, 
and it amused him to question Molly. 

" I was thinking about my summer clothes. I 
must get them before long, and I 'd like to go with 
Mrs. Grant and learn how to shop, if you are 

" I thought Miss Bat did that for you." 

" She always has, but she buys ugly, cheap 
things that I don't like. I think I am old enough 
to choose for myself, if there is some one to tell me 
about prices and the goodness of the stuff. Merry 
does ; and she is only a few months older than I 

"How old are you, child?" asked her father, 
feeling as if he had lost his reckoning. 

"Fifteen in August;" and Molly looked very 
proud of the fact. 

" So you are ! Bless my heart, how the time 
goes ! Well, get what you please ; if I 'm to have 
a young lady here, I 'd like to have her prettily 
dressed. It wont offend Miss Bat, will it?" 

Molly's eyes sparkled, but she gave a little shrug 
as she answered, "She wont care. She never 
troubles herself about me if I let her alone." 

"Hey? What? Not trouble herself? If she 
does n't, who does?" and Mr. Bemis sat up as if 
this discovery was more surprising than the other. 

" I take care of myself and Boo, and she looks 
after you. The house goes any way." 

" I should think so ! I nearly broke my neck 
over the parlor sofa in the hall to-night. What is 
it there for ? " 

Molly laughed. "That's the joke, sir; Miss 
Bat is cleaning house, and I 'm sure it needs clean- 
ing, for it is years since it was properly done. I 
thought you might have told her to." 

" I 've said nothing. Don't like house-cleaning 
well enough to suggest it. I did think the hall 
was rather dirty when I dropped my coat, and took 
it up covered with lint. Is she going to upset the 
whole place ? " asked Mr. Bemis, looking alarmed 
at the prospect. 

" I hope so, for I really am ashamed, when peo- 
ple come, to have them see the dust and cobwebs, 
and old carpets and dirty windows," said Molly, 
with a sigh, though she never had cared a bit till 

" Why don't you dust around a little, then ? No 
time to spare from the books and play ? " 

" I tried, father, but Miss Bat did n't like it, and 
it was too hard for me alone. If things were once 

in nice order, I think I could keep them so ; for I 
do want to be neat, and I 'm learning as fast as I 

" It is high time some one took hold, if matters 
are left as you say. I 've just been thinking what 
a clever woman Miss Bat was, to make such a tidy 
little girl out of what I used to hear called the 
greatest tomboy in town, and wondering what I 
could give the old lady. Now I find you are the 
one to be thanked, and it is a very pleasant sur- 
prise to me." 

" Give her the present, please; I 'm satisfied, if 
you like what I 've done. It is n't much, and I 
did n't know as you would ever observe any differ- 
ence. But I did try, and now I guess I 'm really 
getting on," said Molly, sewing away with a bright 
color in her cheeks, for she, too, found it a pleas- 
ant surprise to be praised, after many failures and 
few successes. 

" You certainly are, my dear. I Ml wait till the 
house-cleaning is over, and then, if we are all 
alive, I '11 see about Miss Bat's reward. Meantime, 
you go with Mrs. Grant and get whatever you and 
the bey need, and send the bills to me ; " and Mr. 
Bemis lighted a cigar, as if that matter was settled. 

"Oh, thank you, sir! That will be splendid. 
Merry always has pretty things, and I know you 
will like me when I get fixed," said Molly, smooth- 
ing down her apron, with a little air. 

" Seems to me you look very well as you are. 
Is n't that a pretty enough frock?" asked Mr. 
Bemis, quite, unconscious that his own unusual 
interest in his daughter's affairs made her look so 
bright and winsome. 

"This? Why, father, I 've worn it all winter, 
and it 's friglitfully ugly, and almost in rags. I 
asked you for a new one a month ago, and you 
said you 'd 'see about it'; but you did n't, so I 
patched this up as well as I could ; " and Molly 
showed her elbows, feeling that such masculine 
blindness as this deserved a mild reproof. 

" Too bad ! Well, go and get half a dozen 
pretty muslin and gingham things, and be as gay 
as a butterfly, to make up for it," laughed her 
father, really touched by the patches and Molly's 
resignation to the uncertain "I'll see about it," 
which he recognized as a household word. 

Molly clapped her hands, old gloves and all, ex- 
claiming, with girlish delight, "How nice it will 
seem to have a plenty of new, neat dresses all at 
once, and be like other girls ! Miss Bat always 
talks about economy, and has no more taste than 
a — caterpillar." Molly meant to say "cat," but, 
remembering her pets, spared them the insult. 

" I think I can afford to dress my girl as well as 
Grant does his. Get a new hat and coat, child, and 
any little notions you fancy. Miss Bat's economy 




is n't the sort I like ; " and Mr. Bemis looked at 
his wristbands again, as if he could sympathize with 
Molly's elbows. 

"At this rate, I shall have more clothes than I 
know what to do with, after being a rag-bag," 
thought the girl, in great glee, as she bravely 
stitched away at the worst glove, while her father 
smoked silently for a while, feeling that several little 
matters had escaped his eye which he really ought 
to " see about." 

Presently he went to his desk, but not to bury 
himself in business papers, as usual, for, after 
rummaging in several drawers, he took out a small 
bunch of keys, and sat looking at them with an 
expression only seen on his face when he looked up 
at the portrait of a dark-eyed woman hanging in 
his room. He was a very busy man, but he had a 
tender place in his heart for his children ; and when 
a look, a few words, a moment's reflection called 
his attention to the fact that his little girl was 
growing up, he found both pride and pleasure in 
the thought that this young daughter was trying 
to fill her mother's place, and be a comfort to him, 
if he would let her. 

" Molly, my dear, here is something for you," 
he said ; and, when she stood beside him, added, as 
he put the keys into her hand, keeping both in his 
own for a minute : 

" Those are the keys to your mother's things. I 
always meant you to have them, when you were old 
enough to use or care for them. I think you '11 
fancy this better than any other present, for you are 
a good child, and very like her." 

Something seemed to get into his throat there, 
and Molly put her arm around his neck, saying, 
with a little choke in her own voice, " Thank you, 
father; I 'd rather have this than anything else in 
the world, and I '11 try to be more like her every 
day, for your sake." 

He kissed her, then said, as he began to stir his 
papers about, ''I must write some letters. Run 
off to bed, child. Good-night, my dear, — good- 

Seeing that he wanted to be alone, Molly slipped 
away, feeling that she had received a very precious 
gift ; for she remembered the dear, dead mother, 
and had often longed to possess the relics laid away 
in the one room where order reigned and Miss Bat 
had no power to meddle. As she slowly undressed, 
she was not thinking of the pretty new gowns in 
which she was to be " as gay as a butterfly," but 
of the half-worn garments waiting for her hands 
to unfold with a tender touch ; and when she fell 
asleep, with the keys under her pillow and her arms 
around Boo, a few happy tears on her cheeks seemed 
to show that, in trying to do the duty which lay 
nearest her, she had earned a very sweet reward. 

So the little missionaries succeeded better in their 
second attempt than in their first; for, though still 
very far from being perfect girls, each was slowly 
learning, in her own way, one of the three lessons 
all are the better for knowing, — that cheerfulness can 
change misfortune into love and friends; that in 
ordering one's self aright one helps others to do the 
same ; and that the power of finding beauty in the 
humblest things makes home happy and life 

Chapter XVIII. 


SPRING was late that year, but to Jill it seemed 
the loveliest she had ever known, for hope was grow- 
ing green and strong in her own little heart, and 
all the world looked beautiful. With the help of 
the brace she could sit up for a short time every 
day, and when the air was mild enough she was 
warmly wrapped and allowed to look out at the 
open window into the garden, where the gold and 
purple crocuses were coming bravely up, and the 
snowdrops nodded their delicate heads, as if calling 
to her : 

" Good day, little sister ; come out and play with 
us, for winter is over and spring is here." 

" I wish I could ! " thought Jill, as the soft wind 
kissed a tinge of color into her pale cheeks. 
" Never mind,— they have been shut up in a darker 
place than I for months, and had no fun at all ; I 
wont fret, but think about July and the sea-shore 
while I work." 

The job now in hand was May baskets, for it was 
the custom of the children to hang them on the 
doors of their friends the night before May-day; 
and the girls had agreed to supply baskets if the 
boys would hunt for flowers, much the harder task 
of the two. Jill had more leisure as well as taste 
and skill than the other girls, so* she amused her- 
self with making a goodly store of pretty baskets of 
all shapes, sizes and colors, quite confident that 
they would be filled, though not a flower had shown 
its head except a few hardy dandelions, and here 
and there a few small clusters of saxifrage. 

The violets would not open their blue eyes till 
the sunshine was warmer, the columbines refused 
to dance with the boisterous east wind, the ferns 
kept themselves rolled up in their brown flannel 
jackets, and little Hepatica, with many another 
spring beauty, hid away in the w-oods, afraid to 
venture out, in spite of the eager welcome awaiting 
them. But the birds had come, punctual as 
ever, and the blue jays were screaming in the 
orchard, robins were perking up their heads and 
tails as they went house-hunting, purple thrushes in 
their little red hoods were feasting on the spruce- 




buds, and the faithful "chip birds" chirped gayly 
on the grape-vine trellis where they had lived all 
winter, warming their little gray breasts against 
the southern side of the house when the sun shone, 
and hiding under the evergreen boughs when the 
snow fell. 

"That tree is a sort of bird's hotel," said Jill, 
looking out at the tall spruce before her window, 
every spray now tipped with a soft green. ' ' They all 
go there to sleep and eat, and it has room for every 
one. It is green when other trees die, the wind 
can't break it, and the snow only makes it look 
prettier. It sings to me, and nods as if it knew I 
loved it." 

"We might call it ' The Holly-tree Inn,' as 
some of the cheap eating-houses for poor people 
are called in the city, as my holly-bush grows at its 
foot for a sign. You can be the landlady, and feed 
your feathery customers every day, till the hard 
times are over," said Mrs. Minot, glad to see the 
child's enjoyment of the outer world from which 
she had been shut so long. 

Jill liked the fancy, and gladly strewed crumbs 
on the window-ledge for the chippies, who came 
confidingly to eat almost from her hand. She 
threw out grain for the handsome jays, the jaunty 
robins, and the neighbors' doves, who came with 
soft flight to trip about on their pink feet, arching 
their shining necks as they cooed and pecked. 
Carrots and cabbage-leaves also flew out of the 
window for the marauding gray rabbit, last of all 
Jack's half-dozen, who led him a weary life of it 
because they would not stay in the Bunny-house, 
but undermined the garden with their burrows, ate 
the neighbors' plants, and refused to be caught, till 
all but one ran away, to Jack's great relief. This 
old fellow camped out for the winter, and seemed 
to get on very well among the cats and the hens, who 
shared their stores with him, and he might be seen 
at all hours of the day and night scampering about 
the place, or kicking up his heels by moonlight, for 
he was a desperate poacher. 

Jill took great delight in her pretty pensioners, 
who soon learned to love "The Holly-tree Inn," 
and to feel that the Bird-Room held a caged com- 
rade ; for, when it was too cold or wet to open the 
windows, the doves came and tapped at the pane, 
the chippies sat on the ledge in plump little bunches 
as if she were their sunshine, the jays called her in 
their shrill voices to ring the dinner-bell, and the 
robins tilted on the spruce-boughs, where lunch was 
always to be had. 

The first of May came on Sunday, so all the cele- 
brating must be done on Saturday, which happily 
proved fair, though too chilly for muslin gowns, 
paper garlands, and picnics on damp grass. It being 
a holiday, the boys decided to devote the morning 

to ball and the afternoon to the flower hunt, while 
the girls finished the baskets; and in the evening 
our particular seven were to meet at the Minots to 
fill them, ready for the closing frolic of hanging on 
door-handles, ringing bells, and running away. 

" Now, I must do my Maying, for there will be 
no more sunshine, and I want to pick my flowers 
before it is dark. Come, mammy, you go too," 
said Jill, as the last sunbeams shone in at the 
western window, where her hyacinths stood that no 
fostering ray might be lost. 

It was rather pathetic to see the once merry girl, 
who used to be the life of the wood-parties, now 
carefully lifting herself from the couch, and, lean- 
ing on her mother's strong arm, slowly take the 
half-dozen steps that made up her little expedition. 
But she was happy, and stood smiling out at old 
Bun skipping down the walk, the gold-edged 
clouds that drew apart so that a sunbeam might 
give her a good-night kiss as she gathered her 
long-cherished daisies, primroses and hyacinths to 
fill the pretty basket in her hand. 

" Whom is it for, my dearie?" asked her mother, 
standing behind her as a prop, while the thin fin- 
gers did their work so willingly that not a flower 
was left. 

" For My Lady, of course. Whom else would I 
give my posies to, when I love them so well?" 
answered Jill, who thought no name too fine for 
their best friend. 

" I fancied it would be for Master Jack," said 
her mother, wishing the excursion to be a cheerful 

" I 've another for him, but she must have the 
prettiest. He is going to hang it for me, and ring 
and run away, and she wont know who it 's from 
till she sees this. She will remember this, for I 've 
been turning and tending it ever so long, to make 
it bloom to-day. Is n't it a beauty ?" and Jill held 
up her finest hyacinth, which seemed to ring its 
pale pink bells as if glad to carry its sweet message 
from a grateful little heart. 

" Indeed it is; and you are right to give your 
best to her. Come away, now — you must not stay 
any longer. Come and rest, while I fetch a dish to 
put the flowers in till you want them ; " and Mrs. 
Pecq turned her round with her small Maying 
safely done. 

" I did n't think I 'd ever be able to do even so 
much, and here I am walking and sitting up, and 
going to drive some day. Is n't it nice that I 'm 
not to be a poor Lucinda, after all?" and Jill drew 
a long sigh of relief that six months instead of 
twenty years would probably be the end of her 

"Yes, thank Heaven! I don't think I could 
have borne that ; " and the mother took Jill in her 



arms as if she were a baby, holding her close for a 
minute, and laying her down with a tender kiss 
that made the arms cling about her neck as her 
little girl returned it heartily, for all sorts of new, 
sweet feelings seemed to be budding in both, born 
of great joy and thankfulness. 

Then Mrs. Pecq hurried away to see about tea 
for the hungry boys, and Jill watched the pleasant 

-twilight deepen as she lay singing to herself one of 
the songs her wise friend had taught her because 
it fitted her so well : 

" A little bird I am, 

Shut from the fields ot air ; 
And in my cage I sit and sing 

To Him who placed me there: 
Well pleased a prisoner to be, 
Because, my God, it pleases Thee ! 

" Naught have I else to do ; 
I sing the whole day long; 
And He whom most I love to please 

Doth listen to my song ; 
He caught and bound my wandering wing, 
But still He bends to hear me sing." 

" Now we are ready for you, so bring on your 
flowers," said Molly to the boys, as she and Merry 
added their store of baskets to the gay show Jill 
had set forth on the long table, ready for the 
■evening's work. 

" They would n't let me see one, but I guess 
<they have had good luck, they look so jolly," 

Vol. VII.— 51. 

answered Jill, looking at Gus, Frank and Jack, 
who stood, laughing, each with a large basket in 
his hands. 

"Fair to middling. Just look in and see;" 
with which cheerful remark Gus tipped up his 
basket and displayed a few bits of green at the 

" I did better. Now, don't all scream at once 
over these beauties ; " and Frank shook out some 
evergreen sprigs, half a dozen saxifrages, and two 
or three forlorn violets with hardly any steins. 

" I don't brag, but here 's the best of all the 
three," chuckled Jack, producing a bunch of 
feathery carrot-tops, with a few half-shut dande- 
lions trying to look brave and gay. 

"Oh, boys! Is that all?" 

" What shall we do ? " 

" We 've only a few house-flowers, and all those 
baskets to fill!" cried the girls, in despair; for 
Merry's contribution had been small, and Molly 
had only a handful of artificial flowers, " to fill up," 
she said. 

"It is n't our fault: it is the late spring. We 
can't make flowers, can we ? " asked Frank, in a 
tone of calm resignation. 

"Could n't you buy some, then?" said Molly, 
smoothing her crumpled morning-glories, with a 

" Who ever heard of a fellow having any money 
left the last day of the month?" demanded Gus, 

" Or girls, either. I spent all mine in ribbon 
and paper for my baskets, and now they are of no 
use. It's a shame ! " lamented Jill, while Merry 
began to thin out her full baskets to fill the empty 

" Hold on ! " cried Frank, relenting. " Now, 
Jack, make their minds easy before they begin to 
weep and wail." 

" Left the box outside. You tell while I go for 
it;" and Jack bolted, as if afraid the young ladies 
might be too demonstrative when the tale was 

" Tell away," said Frank, modestly passing the 
story along to Gus, who made short work of it. 

"We rampaged all over the country, and got 
only that small mess of greens. Knew you 'd be 
disgusted, and sat down to see what we could do. 
Then Jack piped up, and said he 'd show us a place 
where we could get a plenty. ' Come on,' said we, 
and, after leading us a nice tramp, he brought us 
out at Morse's greenhouse. So we got a few on 
tick, as we had but four cents among us, and there 
you are. Pretty clever of the little chap, was n't 

A chorus of delight greeted Jack as he popped 
his head in, was promptly seized by his elders and 




walked up to the table, where the box was opened, 
displaying gay posies enough to fill most of the 
baskets, if distributed with great economy and much 

"You are the dearest boy that ever was!'' 
began Jill, with her nose luxuriously buried in the 
box, though the flowers were more remarkable for 
color than perfume. 

" No, I 'm not ; there 's a much dearer one 
coming upstairs now, and he 's got something that 
will make you howl for joy," said Jack, ignoring 
his own prowess as Ed came in with a bigger box, 
looking as if 'he had done nothing but go a-Maying 
all his days. 

" Don't believe it ! " cried Jill, hugging her own 
treasure jealously. 

" It 's only another joke. I wont look," said 
Molly, still struggling to make her cambric roses 
bloom again. 

" I know what it is ! Oh, how sweet ! " added 
Merry, sniffing, as Ed set the box before her, say- 
ing, pleasantly : 

" You shall see first, because you had faith." 

Up went the cover, and a whiff of the freshest 
fragrance regaled the seven eager noses bent to 
inhale it, as a general murmur of pleasure greeted 
the nest of great rosy May-flowers that lay before 

" The dear things, how lovely they are ! " and 
Merry looked as if greeting her cousins, so bloom- 
ing and sweet was her own face. 

Molly pushed her dingy garlands away, ashamed 
of such poor attempts beside these perfect works of 
Nature, while Jill stretched out her hand involun- 
tarily, and said, forgetting her exotics, "Give me 
just one to smell — it is so woodsy and delicious." 

"Here you are — plenty for all. Real Pilgrim 
Fathers, right from Plymouth. One of our fellows 
lives there, and I told him to bring me a good lot ; 
so he did, and you can do what you like with 
them," explained Ed, passing around bunches, and 
shaking the rest in a mossy pile upon the table. 

" Ed always gets ahead of us in doing the right 
thing at the right time. Hope you 've got some 
first-class baskets ready for him," said Gus, refresh- 
ing the Washingtonian nose with a pink blossom 
or two. 

" Not much danger of his being forgotten," 
answered Molly ; and every one laughed, for Ed 
was much beloved by all the girls, and his door- 
steps always bloomed like a flower-bed on May 

" Now we must fly around and fill up. Come, 
boys, sort out the green and hand us the flowers as 
we want them. Then we must direct them, and, 
by the time that is done, you can go and leave 
them," said Jill, setting all to work. 

"Ed must choose his baskets first. These are 
ours ; but any of those you can have - r " and Molly 
pointed to a detachment of gay baskets, set aside 
from those already partly filled. 

Ed chose a blue one, and Merry filled it with the 
rosiest May-flowers, knowing that it was to hang 
on Mabel's door-handle. 

The others did the same, and the pretty work 
went on, with much fun, till all were filled, and 
ready for the names or notes. 

" Let us have poetry, as we can't get wild 
flowers. That will be rather fine," proposed Jill, 
who liked jingles. 

All had had some practice at the game parties, 
and pencils went briskly for a few minutes, while 
silence reigned, as the poets racked their brains for 
rhymes, and stared at the blooming array before 
them for inspiration. 

"Oh, dear! I can't find a word to rhyme to 
' geranium,' " sighed Molly, pulling her braid, as 
if to pump the well of her fancy dry. 

" Cranium," said Frank, who was getting on- 
bravely with "Annette "and "violet." 

" That is elegant ! " and Molly scribbled away in 
great glee, for her poems were always funny ones. 

" How do you spell ancmoly, — the wild flower, I 
mean?" asked Jill, who was trying to compose a 
very appropriate piece for her best basket, and 
found it easier to feel love and gratitude than to put 
them into verse. 

" Anemone; do spell it properly, or you '11 get 
laughed at," answered Gus, wildly struggling to 
make his lines express great ardor, without being 
"too spooney," as he expressed it. 

" No, I should n't. This person never laughs at 
other persons' mistakes, as some persons do,"' 
replied Jill, with dignity. 

Jack was desperately chewing his pencil, for he 
could not get on at all ; but Ed had evidently pre- 
pared his poem, for his paper was half full already, 
and Merry was smiling as she wrote a friendly line 
or two for Ralph's basket, for she feared he would 
be forgotten, and knew he loved kindness even 
more than beauty. 

"Now let's read them," proposed Molly, who- 
loved to laugh, even at herself. 

The boys politely declined, and scrambled their 
notes into the chosen baskets in great haste ; but 
the girls were less bashful. Jill was invited to- 
begin, and gave her little piece, with the pink hya- 
cinth basket before her, to illustrate her poem. 


" There are no flowers in the fields, 

No green leaves on the tree, 
No columbines, no violets. 

No sweet anemone. 
So I have gathered from my pots 




All that I have, to fill 
The basket that I hang to-night, 
With heaps of love from Jill." 

"That's perfectly sweet! Mine isn't; but I 
meant it to be funny," said Molly, as if there 
could be any doubt about the following ditty : 

" Dear Grif, 

Here is a whiff 
Of beautiful spring flowers; 

The big red rose 

Is for your nose, 
As toward the sky it towers. 

" Oh, do not frown 

Upon this crown 
Of green pinks and blue geranium. 

But think of me 

When this you see. 
And put it on your cranium." 

" Oh, Molly, you '11 never hear the last of that, 
if Grif gets it," said Jill, as the applause subsided, 
for the boys pronounced it "tip-top." 

" Don't care — he gets the worst of it, any way, 
for there is a pin in that rose, and if he goes to 
smell the May-flowers underneath he will find a 
thorn to pay for the tack he put in my rubber-boot. 
I know he will play me some joke to-night, and I 
mean to be first if I can," answered Molly, settling 
the artificial wreath around the orange-colored 
canoe which held her effusion. 

" Now, Merry, read yours : you always have 
sweet poems ; " and Jill folded her hands to listen 
with pleasure to something sentimental. 

" I can't read the poems in some of mine, be- 
cause they are for you ; but this little verse you can 
hear, if you like: I 'm going to give that basket to 
Ralph. He said he should hang one for his grand- 
mother, and I thought that was so nice of him, I 'd 
love to surprise him with one all to himself. He 's 
always so good to us ; " and Merry looked so in- 
nocently earnest that no one smiled at her kind 
thought or the unconscious paraphrase she had 
made of a famous stanza in her own " little verse " : 

" To one who teaches me 

The sweetness and the beauty 
Of doing faithfully 

And cheerfully my duty." 

" He will like that, and know who sent it, for 
none of us has pretty pink paper but you, or writes 
such an elegant hand," said Molly, admiring the 
delicate white basket shaped like a lily, with the 
flowers inside and the note hidden among them, 
all daintily tied up with the palest blush-colored 

" Well, that 's no harm. He likes pretty things 
as much as I do, and I made my basket like a 
flower because I gave him one of my callas, he 
admired the shape so much ; " and Merry smiled 

as she remembered how pleased Ralph looked 
when he went away carrying the lovely thing. 

" I think it would be a good plan to hang some 
baskets on the doors of other people who don't ex- 
pect or often have any. I '11 do it if you can spare 
some of these — we have so many. Give me only 
one, and let the others go to old Mrs. Tucker, and 
the little Irish girl who has been sick so long, and 
lame Neddy, and Daddy Munson. It would please 
and surprise them so. Shall we ? " asked Ed, in 
that persuasive voice of his. 

All agreed at once, and several people were 
made very happy by a bit of spring left at their 
doors by the May elves who haunted the town that 
night, playing all sorts of pranks. Such a twang- 
ing of bells and rapping of knockers ; Such a 
scampering of feet in the dark ; such droll collisions 
as boys came racing around coiners, or girls flopped 
into one another's arms as they crept up and 
down steps on the sly; such laughing, whistling, 
flying about of flowers and friendly feeling, — it was 
almost a pity that May-day did not come oftener. 

Molly got home late, and found that Grif had 
been before her, after all ; for she stumbled over a 
market-basket at her door, and, on taking it in, 
found a mammoth nosegay of purple and white 
cabbages, her favorite vegetable. Even Miss Bat 
laughed at the funny sight, and Molly resolved to 
get Ralph to carve her a bouquet out of carrots, 
beets and turnips, for next time, as Grif would 
never think of that. 

Merry ran up the garden-walk alone, for Frank left 
her at the gate, and she was fumbling for the latch 
when she felt something hanging there. Opening 
the door carefully, she found it gay with offerings 
from her mates; and among them was one long, 
quiver-shaped basket of birch-bark, with something 
heavy under the green leaves that lay at the top. 
Lifting these, a slender bass-relief of a calla in 
plaster appeared, with this couplet slipped into the 
blue cord by which it was to hang : 

" That mercy you to others show 
That Mercy Grant to me." 

" How lovely ! And this one will never fade, but 
always be a pleasure hanging there. Now, I 
really have something beautiful all my own," said 
Merry to herself as she ran up to hang the pretty 
thing on the dark wainscot of her room, where the 
graceful curve of its pointed leaves and the depth 
of its white cup would be a joy to her eyes as long 
as they lasted. 

" I wonder what that means," and Merry read 
over the lines again, while a soft color came into 
her cheeks and a little smile of girlish pleasure 
began to dimple around her lips ; for she was so 
romantic, this touch of sentiment showed her that 



| August, 

her friendship was more valued than she dreamed. 
But she only said : " How glad I am I remembered 
him, and how surprised he will be to see May- 
flowers in return for the calla." 

He was, and he worked away more happily and 
bravely for the thought of the little friend whose 
eyes would daily fall on the white flower which 
always reminded him of her. 

Chapter XIX. 


" Hi, there ! Bell 's rung ! Get up. lazy-bones ! " 
called Frank from his room, as the clock struck six 
one bright morning, and a great creaking and 
stamping proclaimed that he was astir. 

"All right, I 'm coming," responded a drowsy 
voice, and Jack turned over as if to obey ; but 
there the effort ended, and he was off again, for 
growing lads are hard to rouse, as many a mother 
knows to her sorrow. 

Frank made a beginning on his own toilet, and 
then took a look at his brother, for the stillness 
was suspicious. 

" I thought so ! He told me to wake him, and I 
guess this will do it ; " and, filling his great sponge 
with water, Frank stalked into the next room and 
stood over the unconscious victim like a stern exe- 
cutioner, glad to unite business with pleasure in 
this agreeable manner. 

A woman would have relented and tried some 
milder means, for when his broad shoulders and 
stout limbs were hidden, Jack looked very young 
and innocent in his sleep. Even Frank paused a 
moment to look at the round, rosy face, the curly 
eyelashes, half-open mouth, and the peaceful 
expression of a dreaming baby. " I must do it, or 
he wont be ready for breakfast," said the Spartan 
brother, and down came the sponge, cold, wet and 
choky, as it was briskly rubbed to and fro, regard- 
less of every obstacle. 

" Come, I say ! That 's not fair ! Leave me 
alone ! " sputtered Jack, hitting out so vigorously 
that the sponge flew across the room, and Frank 
fell back to laugh at the indignant sufferer. 

" I promised to wake you, and you believe in 
keeping promises, so I 'm doing my best to get 
you up." 

" Well, you need n't pour a quart of water 
down a fellow's neck, and rub his nose off, need 
you ? I 'm awake, so take your old sponge and go 
along," growled Jack, with one eye open and a 
mighty gape. 

" See that you keep so, then, or I '11 come and 
give you another sort of a rouser," said Frank, 
retiring, well pleased with his success. 

" I shall have one good stretch, if I like. It is 
strengthening to the muscles, and I 'm as stiff 
as a board with all that foot-ball yesterday," 
murmured Jack, lying down for one delicious mo- 
ment. He shut the open eye to enjoy it thor- 
oughly, and forgot the stretch altogether, for the 
bed was warm, the pillow soft, and a half- finished 
dream still hung about his drowsy brain. Who 
does not know the fatal charm of that stolen mo- 
ment — for once yield to it, and one is lost! 

Jack was miles away " in the twinkling of a 
bed-post," and the pleasing dream seemed about 
to return, when a ruthless hand tore off the 
clothes, swept him out of bed, and he really did 
awake to find himself standing in the middle of 
his bath-pan, with both windows open, and Frank 
about to pour a pail of water over him. 

" Hold on ! Yah, how cold the water is ! Why, 
I thought I -was up;" and, hopping out, Jack 
rubbed his eyes and looked about with such a 
genuine surprise that Frank put down the pail, 
feeling that the deluge would not be needed this 

" You are, now, and I '11 see that you keep so," 
he said, as he stripped the bed and carried off the 

"I don't care. What a jolly day!" and Jack 
took a little promenade to finish the rousing 

" You 'd better hurry up, or you won't get your 
chores done before breakfast. No time for a ' go 
as you please' now," said Frank; and both boys 
laughed, for it was an old joke of theirs, and 
rather funny. 

Going up to bed one night expecting to find 
Jack asleep, Frank discovered him tramping round 
and round the room airily attired in a towel, and 
so dizzy with his brisk revolutions that, as his 
brother looked, he tumbled over and lay panting 
like a fallen gladiator. 

" What on earth are you about? " 

"Playing Rowell. Walking for the belt, and 
I 've got it, too," laughed Jack, pointing to an old 
gilt chandelier-chain hanging on the bed-post. 

"You little noodle! You 'd better revolve into 
bed before you lose your head entirely. I never 
saw such a fellow for taking himself off his legs." 

" Well, if I did n't exercise, do you suppose I 
should be able to do that — or that ? " cried Jack, 
turning a somersault and striking a fine attitude 
as he came up, flattering himself that he was the 
model of a youthful athlete. 

" You look more like a clothes-pin than a Her- 
cules," was the crushing reply of this unsym- 
pathetic brother, and Jack meekly retired with a 
bad headache. 

" I don't do such silly things now ; I 'm as 



7 8l 

broad across the shoulders as you are, and twice 
as strong on my pins, thanks to my gymnastics. 
Bet you a cent I '11 be dressed first, though you 
have got the start," said Jack, knowing that Frank 
always had a protracted wrestle with his collar-but- 
tons, which gave his adversary a great advantage 
over him. 

" Done ! " answered Frank, and at it they 
went. A wild scramble was heard in Jack's room, 
and a steady tramp in the other, as Frank worked 
away at the stiff" collar and the unaccommodating 
button till every finger ached. A clashing of 
boots followed, while Jack whistled " Polly Hop- 
kins," and Frank declaimed, in his deepest voice : 

" Arma virumque cano, Trojae qui primus ab oris 
Italiam, fato profugus, Lavinaque venit 

Hair-brushes came next, and here Frank got 
ahead, for Jack's thick crop would stand straight 
up on the crown, and only a good wetting and a 
steady brush would make it lie down. 

"Play away, No. 2," called out Frank, as he 
put on his vest, while Jack was still at it with a 
pair of the stiffest brushes procurable for money. 

"Hold hard, No. 11, and don't forget your 
teeth," answered Jack, who had cleaned his. 

Frank took a hasty rub and whisked on his coat, 
while Jack was picking up the various treasures 
which had flown out of his pockets as he caught 
up his roundabout. 

" Ready ! I '11 trouble you for a cent, sonny ;" 
and Frank held out his hand as he appeared 
equipped for the day. 

" You have n't hung up your night-gown, nor 
aired the bed, nor opened the windows. That 's 
part of the dressing — Mother said so. I 've got 
you there, for you did all that for me, except this," 
and Jack threw his gown over a chair with a 
triumphant flourish as Frank turned back to leave 
his room in the order which they had been taught 
was one of the signs of a good bringing-up in boys 
as well as girls. 

" Ready ! I '11 trouble you for a cent, old man," 
and Jack held out his hand, with a chuckle. 

He got the money and a good clap beside ; then 
they retired to the shed to black their boots, after 
which Frank filled the wood-boxes and Jack split 
kindlings, till the daily allowance was ready. Both 
went at their lessons for half an hour, Jack scowl- 
ing over his algebra in the sofa corner, while 
Frank, with his elbows on and his legs around the 
little stand which held his books, seemed to be 
having a wrestling-match with Herodotus. 

When the bell rang, they were glad to drop the 
lessons and fall upon their breakfast with the appe- 
tite of wolves, especially Jack, who sequestered 
oatmeal and milk with such rapidity that one would 

have thought he had a leathern bag hidden some- 
where to slip it into, like his famous namesake 
when he breakfasted with the giant. 

"I declare, I don't see what he does with it! 
He really ought not to ' gobble' so, Mother," said 
Frank, who was eating with great deliberation and 

" Never you mind, old quiddle. I 'm so hungry 
I could tuck away a bushel," answered Jack, emp- 
tying a glass of milk and holding out his plate for 
more mush, regardless of his white moustache. 

" Temperance in all things is wise, in speech as 
well as eating and drinking, — remember that, 
boys," said Mamma, from behind the urn. 

"That reminds me! We promised to do the 
Observer this week, and here it is Tuesday and 
I have n't done a thing : have you ? " asked Frank. 

" Never thought of it. We must look up some 
bits at noon instead of playing. Dare say Jill has 
got some : she always saves all she finds for me." 

" I have one or two good items, and can do any 
copying there may be. But I think if you under- 
take the paper you should give some time and 
labor to make it good," said Mamma, who was 
used to this state of affairs, and often edited the 
little sheet read every week at the Lodge. The 
boys seldom missed going, but the busy lady was 
often unable to be there, so helped with the paper 
as her share of the labor. 

" Yes, we ought, but somehow we don't seem to 
get up much steam about it lately. If more people 
belonged, and we could have a grand time now 
and then, it would be jolly ; " and Jack sighed at 
the lack of interest felt by outsiders in the loyal 
little Lodge, which went on year after year, kept up 
by the faithful few. 

" I remember when, in this very town, we used